


A Healer's Touch

by ScriptrixDraconum



Series: Healer [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Backstory, Battle for Skyrim, Canon Backstory, F/F, F/M, Love Triangles, M/M, Multi, Stormcloak Rebellion, Stormcloaks, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 35,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptrixDraconum/pseuds/ScriptrixDraconum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 1. Eirin (OC), a healer, leaves her life behind to join the Stormcloak Rebellion. Galmar assigns her to protect the Dragonborn on his various adventures. When the civil war escalates and the Battle for Skyrim begins, Eirin is reunited with an old friend, and her heart becomes torn between the present and the past. (Provides backstory for Ralof and the Dragonborn. Explicit Sexual Content. Skyrim in-game content copyright Bethesda Softworks. No infringement intended.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Joining the Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Healer joins the Stormcloaks.

**Part 1**

_"I do swear my blood and_ _honor to the service of Ulfric Stormcloak_ _Jarl of Windhelm and true High King of Skyrim._ _As Talos is my witness, may this oath bind me_ _to death and beyond..._ _...even to my lord as to my fellow brothers_ _and sisters in arms._ _All hail the Stormcloaks, the true sons_ _and daughters of Skyrim!"_

Galmar Stone-Fist lead the oath-taking for the new recruits with Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak presiding from his throne. The large group of men and women congratulated one another and the festivities in the Palace of the Kings continued throughout the evening. Galmar, however, spent the evening planning their next moves with Ulfric and a man known as the Dragonborn.

At midnight, the new recruits were ordered to retire for the evening. In the morning, they were to travel to their first assigned posts.

Eirin was the only new healer. She felt out of place among near two dozen war-ready men and women. As she did not go through a soldier's training, this was the first time she met these recruits. Still, she joined in on the feast, spoke with several of the men and women, and did her best to not look as uneasy and nervous as she felt.

Her training as a healer had been life-long and her skills were as good as any, but after she made the journey from her current home in Markarth to Windhelm to join the Rebellion, Galmar nearly turned her away. Healers were expected to act as reserves, or at least be able to defend themselves. Eirin was entirely untrained in combat, too weak to swing a sword more than a few times, and had terrible aim with a bow. It wasn't until Eirin showed Galmar exactly what she _could_ do that he accepted her offer.

Just as any healer, Eirin had vast knowledge of medicinal herbs and could mix tonics that healed as easily as poisons that killed. It was her innate skill, however, that made her unique. When tonics, bandages, and stitches failed, Eirin resorted to energy manipulation. Others called it magic. Very few humans, particularly Nords, had innate supernatural abilities. Most people trained in Winterhold, learned spells and incantations, and attempted to match the level of the few natural practitioners, usually elves. Some humans, like Eirin, her mother, grandmother and so on, could manipulate energy. In Eirin's family's case, this energy was life, the force connected to the earth. Some could manipulate heat, creating fire; others, water, creating ice or even making it rain for a short time. Eirin never met anyone who could manipulate air, but she had heard of their existence. Those people could create strong gusts of wind, but the energy required for the process was said to be much greater than that of controlling the other forces.

Manipulation did not require chanting, magical scrolls, potions, or any other sort of enchantment. What it did require was a massive amount of energy expended by the manipulator. Eirin could only heal so many wounds so many times until she recuperated. Mortal wounds could only be healed partially, usually preventing infection, but the rest of the healing must be done the typical way.

Galmar did not believe Eirin at first. It was only when she took her own dagger, sliced her arm and healed it in front of the commander that he not only believed her, but practically begged her to join the Rebellion. “The only drawback is that you can only be in one place at a time,” he had said to her.

As soon as the troops gathered for the next stage of the Rebellion, Eirin would be there at base camp, waiting to heal injured soldiers. She offered to trail the front line, hanging back to heal the injured before they were brought back to camp, but this was apparently the job of others, those who were able-bodied but for whatever reason could not fight. In any case, Galmar did not want to risk her being killed on the battlefield.

In an open space on the floor of Windhelm's great hall, Eirin laid out the bedroll she was issued. Instead of the typical Stormcloak uniform, she was issued a soft hide outfit that fit well and enabled her to move quickly, which may be necessary in the near future. In these clothes, she would be viewed as a civilian by the enemy, and would therefore be in less danger. She was allowed to keep her dagger, and was given a belt with a small scabbard and the same small pouch that all soldiers had attached to their own belts. She also received a large knapsack in which she would carry her healing supplies.

In the morning, Eirin would leave Windhelm for a camp far to the north-west. Galmar wanted her, with several other recruits, to accompany the Dragonborn on several missions before they joined the main troops. Galmar had been particularly insistent that the Dragonborn was a priority for Eirin's attention. One of the recruits was to be Eirin's bodyguard, and Eirin was to guard the life of the Dragonborn.

Thoughts of what the next stage in her life would bring kept Eirin awake most of the night. She nervously played with her necklace. The charm that dangled from the leather thong was a childhood gift, and she never took it off. Thoughts of the gift-giver relaxed her. Several hours before dawn, she slept.


	2. The Dragonborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirin goes on her first quest.

Eirin was grateful that she was at ease on the back of a horse. The journey that day was slow and long, but the sturdy back of the horse she was issued made for a comfortable ride.

As they rode, Eirin watched the Dragonborn who was at the head of the line. She rode directly behind him with her bodyguard at her side and two more recruits at the rear. During the celebrations the night before, Eirin had been briefly introduced to the Dragonborn, but was not told his real name. She had heard of the Dragonborn, of course. Once he was discovered, the news had spread across Skyrim. She had held in her excitement upon meeting him, but was determined to introduce herself properly eventually.

The Dragonborn was tall, attractive and strongly built. He was armed head-to-toe in steel and wielded various weapons, all massive and deadly. While riding, his steel helmet was hooked to the saddle pack, and the bright sun made his brown hair glow a dark orange-red. Eirin recalled his eyes were a mossy grey-green. She had a desire to leave her position in line, urge her horse forward and talk with the Dragonborn, but decided against it.

As the sun began to set, the Dragonborn insisted they camp at a rock shelter he spotted just beyond the road. They hitched their horses to a nearby tree. Two of the recruits left to hunt for dinner before nightfall and the third, her bodyguard, took a nap. Eirin and the Dragonborn set up a campfire then sat on their bedrolls with their backs against the rock surface.

Eirin was longing to talk to the Dragonborn. _What does one say to the DRAGONBORN?_ , she thought to herself. She glanced over at the tall man who sat staring at the fire. She picked up her bedroll and moved it closer to him. She sat down and wrapped a blanket around herself.

“I'm glad you're with the Stormcloaks, Dragonborn,” she said. She dared not look him in the face. She watched the dancing flames instead.

A few moments passed.

“I was happy to join,” he finally said.

 _Nice ice-breaker, Eirin,_ she teased herself. The sunset painted the clouds orange.

“Where are we headed?” This time Eirin looked at him.

He did not look at her. “You'll know when we get there.” He started throwing tiny pebbles into the fire.

This answer greatly annoyed Eirin. His exclusivity reminded her of her ex-husband.

“So,” she forced herself to try one more time to start a conversation, “Do you have a name, or do we just call you 'Sir Dragonborn'?”

His laugh surprised Eirin. Her irritation faded into relief. “Fjornir,” he replied.

“Fjornir....” she repeated softly. “My name is Eirin.”

“I know,” he said.

 _Stupid,_ she scolded herself. She had been introduced to him yesterday. She looked over at him again. His expression was more relaxed. “Where are you from, Fjornir?”

This time he turned his head to her. His face no longer lit up in good humor. “That's, 'Sir Fjornir the Dragonborn', to you, lass.” He spoke in a stern voice that added a slight brogue to his accent.

Eirin stared back at him, wide-eyed.

The man then burst out laughing.

This woke up the napping recruit. He jumped at the Dragonborn's guttural guffaw and reached for his sword. This scene sent Fjornir straight to his back in a fit of laughter. Eirin couldn't help but let out a laugh herself. _Maybe the Dragonborn wasn't so bad after all_ , she thought.

The other recruits returned. Dinner comprised two rabbits, a large goose, and a handful of snowberries. The night brought a cold wind, and troop was grateful for the thick blankets that the horses carried in their packs. After finishing his meal, Fjornir slept. The three recruits chatted softly in the firelight. Iver, Erich, and Silda were their names. Eirin decided to try and sleep as well, since the night before only brought a few hours of rest. The recruit's chatter was surprisingly soothing, and Eirin fell asleep quickly.

* * *

That night Eirin dreamt of her husband. At least, he used to be her husband. In this dream, his face was imposed on some sort of demon. The demon's long black claws ripped her to pieces. When she woke, she checked for cuts under her shirt, just to be sure her ex-husband didn't attack her in her sleep.

Breakfast was leftovers from dinner, more snowberries and some bread. Immediately after eating the five set out again.

When the Dragonborn stopped his horse and held the line, Eirin learned of the purpose of their journey. Flying in the sky, not very far from the small troop, was a dragon. Eirin sat frozen on her horse. She was thankful for the partial cover from trees along the road. The Dragonborn dismounted and hitched the reigns to a tree branch. He walked up to Eirin and the recruits.

“Healer,” Fjornir addressed her, “You'll stay here. No sense in letting you get roasted.” He gave what Eirin considered a stern but protective look. “The rest of you, with me. There are enough places up ahead to use for cover against the dragon's fire-breath. I will lure it there. You... be ready with your arrows.” The recruits nodded. The Dragonborn gave Eirin a final look she could not translate. She watched him lead the recruits to the rocky terrain ahead.

Eirin dismounted and hitched her horse, ready to come to the aid of the soldiers if needed. She thought about the burns she'd healed in the past - never from dragon-fire. The Dragonborn shouted magic words at the beast, stunning it mid-air. Eirin had heard of his shouts that could knock a man off his feet, but a dragon?... The shouts stunned the dragon long enough for the soldiers and the Dragonborn to let lose their arrows. The dragon's wings were eventually torn by the arrows and it was forced to land. From the ground, it was easily dispatched by the Dragonborn. Eirin saw no soldier hit by dragon-fire. While the recruits walked back to the treeline, Eirin saw a glowing form emerge from the dragon's corpse, swirl through the air, and fade into Fjornir. He was roaring, and emitted a glow from his own body. Was that the dragon's soul she just saw? Did it pain the Dragonborn to absorb the very thing that gave him power? Eirin thought about her own power and its costs and benefits, and decided that no great power comes without great pain....

When Fjornir returned to the group, he walked up to Eirin and held out his right arm. A small patch of red, blistering skin adorned his otherwise flawless forearm. “Let's see what you can do, Healer.” He smiled down at the young woman. _He_ _doesn't_ _seem to be in any pai_ _n_ , Eirin thought.

She felt again a sense of irritation with the man before her. “How did you heal your burns _before_ I was around, 'Sir Fjornir the Dragonborn'?” The recruits let out a collective, faint gasp at Eirin's remark. She ignored them.

Fjornir lowered his arm and his smile faded. “A salve that smells like flowers covering a rotting corpse.” His smile returned. “Come on, indulge me.” He raised his arm again.

Eirin smirked, but obliged. With a gentle touch of her right hand – her left hand held the side opposite the burned area – a faint yellow glow emitted from her palm. Within moments, the blisters dissipated. Eirin removed her hands from Fjornir's forearm. The skin was still red and a bit shiny, but healed.

Fjornir inspected the wound, ran a finger over the red patch, and grinned. “I'm going to like having you around, Healer.” Eirin did not return his smile. She regarded her energy level; it was fine. Thankfully, treating dragon-fire burns would not be overly taxing.

The group mounted their horses. The Dragonborn was continuing north-east. Eirin thought their mission was finished in this part of Skyrim, but since Fjornir refused to tell anyone his plans, she stopped worrying about where they were going. Instead, she decided to address the man's attitude toward her. She left formation and moved her horse to the right of Fjornir's.

“Eirin,” she said to him.

“What?” Fjornir was surprised to see her next to him.

“ _My name_ is Eirin,” she repeated.

“Yes, I know.” His look showed slight annoyance.

“Not 'Healer', not 'Eirin the Healer', just, Eirin.” She smirked and widened her eyes at the Dragonborn.

He turned his head to her again. Eirin could not tell what he was thinking. He looked forward again. Trotting his horse ahead of Eirin's, he turned down the right fork in the road. Eirin urged her horse to keep pace with his.

“Lady Eirin the Healer,” he said a moment later. She shot him a look that he did not see. “Where are _you_ from?” She heard his brogue again.

“Helgen, originally. More recently... Markarth.”

Fjornir considered her answer. “'Lady Eirin, Healer of Helgen and more recently of Markarth'.” He turned his head and flashed her a broad grin. The recruits behind them laughed.

She rolled her eyes. “And you, Fjornir?”

He took a moment to answer. “I don't know,” he said in a deeper, softer voice.

Eirin studied his face. Frustration and sorrow. He wasn't joking. “I'm sorry,” she said.

Fjornir cleared his throat. “I grew up in Riften. In the orphanage.” His expression remained emotionless. “I left as soon as I could wield a sword.”

“Where did you go?” she asked.

“Everywhere,” Fjornir replied.

Their conversation ended, but the recruits behind them chatted amongst themselves.

A while later, Eirin asked Fjornir, “When did you find out you were the Dragonborn?”

“About four months ago,” he answered.

“Wow,” Eirin was impressed by how fast news traveled. “I heard about you maybe two months ago.”

“Is that why you joined the Stormcloaks?” Fjornir asked.

Eirin looked over at him. He was seriously considering the notion.

“No,” she said plainly. “I had no idea you – the Dragonborn, I mean – had joined the Rebellion. I just had to get out of Markarth.” She closed her eyes and shook the memory from her mind.

“Is Markarth why you were screaming in your sleep last night?” Fjornir glanced at Eirin. She was taken aback by the sudden softness of his words.

She swallowed hard. A single tear escaped from her left eye and she quickly wiped it away. “Yes,” was all she managed to say.

Eirin recognized none of their surroundings. She had never been this far north. The sky was overcast now and it began to snow. Eirin shivered. She retrieved her old fur coat from the horse pack. “Fjornir, where are we going?” She asked again.

“The northern coast, west of Dawnstar.”

“What for?”

Fjornir smiled at her and said, “Treasure.”


	3. Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dragonborn finds a way to fund the Civil War.

Fjornir handed Eirin a piece of paper. The sketched map had faded with age, but the paper was clearly a treasure map.

“Why would the Dragonborn be interested in treasure?” Eirin asked, handing back the map.

“Wars are expensive,” Fjornir replied.

 _Fair enough,_ Eirin thought.

The map was accurate. It lead them directly to a shipwreck.

Fjornir dismounted. “Eirin, Iver, stay back here with the horses,” he ordered.

Iver was Eirin's bodyguard. His axe was massive.

A few moments later, Fjornir, Erich and Silda returned with a water-logged treasure chest. It was locked. Erich took a lock pick from his belt pouch and worked at the lock. A few moments later, the chest lid popped up slightly. Eirin and Silda exchanged excited looks.

Gold. Lots and lots of gold. Gems, silver ingots, and jewelry of all kinds.

“Um, Fjornir,” Erich spoke, “How do you expect us to carry all of this?”

Fjornir walked to his horse and opened one of the saddle packs. Inside were folded thick leather bags with straps at the top. He distributed them among the group. “Fill them as full as you can. Tie them to the saddle packs.” Fjornir began to fill a bag with several ingots.

“Where to after this, Fjornir?” Silda asked.

“Back to Windhelm,” he smiled at the attractive blonde woman. “All of this goes to Ulfric. We'll await further orders there.”

On the way back east, the troop spent the night in the same rock shelter. Fresh venison wrapped in garlic leaves was roasted on a spit. Silda was deadly with her arrows. She had pierced the animal straight through the lungs. Eirin felt a pang of jealousy; she had always admired skilled archers.

Eirin and Silda sat together and chatted that night. The men fell asleep early.

After looking over to Fjornir, Silda's voice lowered to a whisper. “Do you think he's married?” she asked Eirin.

“I have no idea,” Eirin said.

“Mmm.” Silda caressed her own cheek. “I hope I get assigned to help him again.” She reclined on the rock wall behind her. “What about you? Husband? Wife?” Silda winked at Eirin.

 _What was that for? s_ he asked herself. “No, no one.” She fondled the charm on her necklace.

“Surprising,” Silda raised her eyebrow.

Eirin recognized the look in her eye. She didn't acknowledge it. “Are you alright to keep first watch?”

“Yeah...” Silda exhaled the word.  


	4. Downtime in Windhelm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dragonborn and other Stormcloaks get restless.

Their first night back in Windhelm, Fjornir dreamt of Eirin. He was alone in a large guest room, as was the rest of his troop. In his dream, the healer was bathing by a gentle waterfall. Her light brown hair, which she normally pulled back in a single braid, had been let down and hung passed her breasts in waves. When she stepped under the falling water, her hair transformed into a dark silky sheet that clung to her upper body. Her skin was pale with orange undertones. Freckles dotted her shoulders. Beads of water made her body glisten.

With a cloth, she washed her curvy body in slow-motion. Her full, heavy breasts were partially hidden behind the wet tresses of her hair. Her wide hips remained just above the water in which she stood. Fjornir saw the cleft between her buttocks. Above the dimples in her lower back, her waist tapered inward. She was shaped like an hourglass. He approached the healer, emerging from his concealed vantage point. Just as the woman began to turn around, Fjornir woke from the dream.

It was dawn when his eyes opened to a stone ceiling. Fjornir let out an exasperated sigh. He looked down his body – sure enough, his erection tented his loincloth. The restraint became almost painful. He slid his hand down his bare chest and untucked the linen. He closed his eyes and imagined Eirin with him, in the pool before the waterfall. He felt her hands on his body. Her warm, healing hands. He remembered her eyes glowing amber in firelight. Fjornir saw her eyes looking up at him while pleasuring him with her mouth. He longed to feel her full breasts, and grabbed at his own, muscular chest. A soft moan escaped his mouth.

“Well, someone's having a good time,” a woman's voice spoke in a sultry tone. Fjornir's body jerked as he was ripped from his fantasy. He opened his eyes. Silda stood at the foot of his bed in her undergarments. A wicked grin grew on her face.

Fjornir covered himself with a pillow. In his fantasizing, he hadn't heard her enter the room.

“What do you want, Silda?” His voice was rough with morning grogginess and sexual frustration.

Silda lowered herself onto the bed and slowly crawled to Fjornir. _Like a sabre cat stalking_ _her_ _prey_ , he thought. She crept up until her legs were astride Fjornir's waist and her hands above his shoulders. “I think it's pretty clear what I want,” she practically purred. Silda felt his erection behind her buttocks. She began to move her clothed body against him, using her body to stroke his manhood.

Fjornir watched the woman on top of him. Silda was thin and muscular, much more lithe than he preferred. He closed his eyes and saw Eirin, standing there in the waterfall pool. The Healer leaned forward against the waist-level earth and, glancing back to him, pleaded with her soft brown eyes for him to enter her.

Silda sucked at Fjornir's neck. She teased her tongue around his chest, lightly bit a nipple, then pressed her lips to his. While Silda was kissing him, Fjornir opened his eyes. Seeing her blonde hair and feeling her thin body disintegrated his fantasy.

This was not the woman he wanted.

He just couldn't stand the teasing any longer.

With a faint grunt, Fjornir grabbed Silda's arms and used his strength and his body to shift their positions. The woman now lay beneath him on the bed, grinning up at him. This would not do. Fjornir grabbed Silda's waist, flipped her onto stomach, and lifted her hips. In three swift movements he lowered her underwear to her knees, felt her wetness, and entered her.

Fjornir closed his eyes. He felt the water from the cold pool splashing around their naked bodies, lapping at his buttocks as he entered Eirin again and again. He saw the healer's full breasts pinned against the earth at the side of the pool. He heard the noise from the gentle waterfall. His hands gripped Eirin's fullness, not Silda's narrow hips. It was Eirin's supple buttocks that thrust back to him, not Silda's toned rear.

Soon Fjornir was moaning. Silda was screaming his name.

No, not his name. _Dragonborn,_ she kept saying. Over and over. Dragonborn. Dragonborn. He recalled Eirin and how adamant she had been that he called her by name, not 'Healer'. Just, Eirin. Eirin. Healing his burn with a single touch.... At this memory his pleasure climaxed. He grit his teeth to avoid saying the Healer's name. A loud growl replaced what he almost belted out.

A few thrusts later the skinny woman before him ceased bucking her body. He moved her buttocks forward, away from him, and sat back in the bed.

He was disgusted with himself.

He grabbed a wine bottle from the side table and drank hard.

Silda turned onto her back. She was breathing hard, but retained her wicked grin. “Ohhh, I can't believe I just _fucked_ the Dragonborn!” She laughed, then placed a hand between her legs and moaned.

Fjornir felt sick. He slinked out of bed, grabbed his loincloth and wrapped it around his waist.

Silda propped herself up on an elbow. “Where are you going?” She sounded surprised. And then, her wicked grin reappearing, her voice echoed her lasciviousness. “I'm ready to go again.”

 _Rabid sabre cat,_ Fjornir confirmed. “I need a bath,” he said before leaving the room with his clothes in hand.

* * *

After bathing, Fjornir went to the main hall for some breakfast. When he opened the door, he saw the tables full of people. Ulfric, Galmar, his troop and many others held a lively chatter. He decided it best to avoid Eirin and particularly Silda, and took a seat next to Galmar.

He lowered his voice to a whisper, then spoke. “Galmar, I have a request.”

“And that would be?” the commander asked.

“I need you to... redistribute... someone,” Fjornir said softly, his mouth close to Galmar's ear.

“Who?”

Fjornir whispered Silda's name.

Galmar looked down the length of the table. “The blonde?” he asked, turning to Fjornir.

Fjornir nodded.

“Done.” He didn't ask why.

Fjornir lacked an appetite, but forced down some stew. Silda had used him, and he was just as guilty. He was a weak man. He should have refused the girl. Could he not control his own actions? His shoulders slouched forward and his head hung over the bowl full of stew. He realized Silda would despise him once she realized why she was sent away on a new assignment.

He didn't care.

He ran fingers through his damp, shoulder-length hair and peered down the table. He wanted badly to talk casually with Eirin again, but she sat by Silda. And Iver. And Erich.

No. Not now. He wouldn't know what to say to Eirin, anyway. 'I long for your body' didn't usually work, not with women like her. 'I've been waiting for a woman like you' would be a horrible opening line. His stomach cramped with the thought of her refusal. He needed a plan. He needed her with him. On missions. _Yes,_ Fjornir thought. _More missions._

“Ulfric,” Fjornir looked across the table to the Jarl. “Is there anything you need me to do before word is received from the other troops?”

Ulfric thought a moment. “Galmar, what was that place you mentioned the other day, with the bandits?”

“Hmm, yes. Brunwulf complained about a disruption of business. Bandits causing trouble. They were holed up in some cave....” Galmar paused, thinking. “Ah, yes, Stony Creek Cave. I'll show you on the map.”

“Good,” said Fjornir. “Any word on how many bandits?”

“At least a dozen,” Galmar replied.

Fjornir feigned thinking. He knew what he needed. And wanted. “I'll take the Healer,” he declared.

Galmar's brow furrowed. “Into a cave full of bandits? She'll be impaled in no time.” He laughed.

“No,” Fjornir said. “She'll be fine.”

“If you insist on taking her along, take Iver too. He's taken good care of her so far,” said the commander.

“We haven't been in any _fights,_ Galmar.” Fjornir glared at the man sitting next to him. But he then looked away, realizing this statement did nothing to support his demand.

“Still, you want the Healer? Take Iver. No exceptions.”

Fjornir lowered his head into his hands. “Fine. Now show me the map. We'll leave today.”


	5. The Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirin discovers there is more to her ability than she realized.

The ride to their destination was agonizingly long, even though they kept their horses at a fast pace. There was no opportunity for conversation. The entire way to the cave, the three kept formation, Fjornir in the lead and Iver bringing up the rear.

The bandits at Stony Creek Cave stood no chance against the Dragonborn with his massive warhammer and steel armor. He was just as deadly with his bow and arrow, stealthily taking out a mage. Fjornir ordered Iver to protect their backs at all times, no matter what. Fjornir had counted only six bandits, including those outside the cave. He continued deeper into the earth.

They advanced slowly, quietly, and then heard the sound of metal hitting rock ahead. Fjornir turned back to Eirin and Iver to signal for them to stay back. Fjornir advanced, loaded his bow with an arrow, aimed, and loosed. Eirin heard a clinking sound and knew he had missed.  
  
Fjornir cursed under his breath. He dropped his bow, grabbed his warhammer, and ran forward. Eirin and Iver advanced slightly. A single bandit was rushing toward Fjornir, sword raised. But the bandit's next move, none of them expected. The woman raised her left hand and shot fire from her palm.

“Duck!” Iver shouted.

Fjornir hit the watery stone ground in a splash. The fireball hit the wall of the round stone room. Eirin saw the woman raise her sword above Fjornir's head. A kill shot.

For Iver, the next moment happened too quickly to fully comprehend.

For Eirin, the moment lasted an eternity. As she watched Fjornir about to die, rage and terror pulsated within her. Her muscles tensed and her hands stung as if stuck by tiny needles. She screamed.

As if by reflex, Eirin raised her hands in front of her as bolts of lightning shot from her fingertips at the bandit. The assault knocked the woman against the stone wall. She landed on the ground and did not move.

Fjornir checked the bandit for a pulse but found none. He turned back to Eirin, confused.

The Healer stood frozen, staring wide-eyed at her own hands. Between each finger sparked tiny flashes of white-hot light. Her hands were tingling, the sort of sensation one feels when sleeping too long on their arm.

A sudden fatigue caused Eirin to nearly faint, but Iver caught her. Fjornir ran up to them. He and Iver helped Eirin to a treasure chest that was placed near the cave wall and sat her down.

“Eirin! You never said you could do that!” Iver sounded excited.

Fjornir studied the girl. Her eyes were wide with fear, and with wonder. She continued to stare at her hands, which no longer generated sparks. Fjornir recognized the look in her eyes. That moment of stunned discovery, when the mind instantly fills with questions that you don't even know how to ask.

Fjornir sighed. “She didn't know.”

Iver looked up at him. “How could she not know she could do something like _that?”_

Fjornir crouched down in front of Eirin. “Hey,” he said softly. She didn't respond. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Eirin.”

She slowly turned her head from her hands to Fjornir's face.

“Are you alright?" Fjornir asked her.

She took a moment to comprehend. “No,” she said in a quiet voice. “I mean... yes.... I....” She looked again at her hands, then at the dead bandit. Her breathing increased and became shallow gasps for air.

She was in shock.

“It's alright, Eirin. Just breath.” Fjornir held her shoulders. “Slow your breath. Slow and deep.” She looked into his eyes. His hands pushed down on her shoulders whenever she inhaled. Fjornir held her gaze. She forced deeper breaths. “That's it, Eirin. Slowly.” Her diaphragm finally relaxed. She collapsed forward into Fjornir's arms, still forcing her breath to remain slow.

“I guess that was her first kill,” Iver said.

Fjornir knew he was right. He stood up with Eirin still clinging to him. “Iver, see if anything worthwhile is in that chest.”

There was. A sack of gold coins and a quiver of Elven arrows.

“Come on,” Fjornir said. “Let's get out of here.”

They went back the way they came, slowly, with Eirin's arm around Fjornir's waist.

* * *

The ride back north was solemn. Fjornir offered to let Eirin ride with him on his horse, but she insisted she was fine to ride by herself. As a compromise, Eirin rode between the two men who would be able to catch her if she fainted. When Fjornir was convinced Eirin was indeed fine, he kicked up the pace to a canter. He wanted to get Eirin back to Windhelm before nightfall.

Fjornir made Iver promise not to say anything to anyone about Eirin. She needed to figure out what happened, first.

Fjornir lead Eirin straight to her room once in the Palace of the Kings. He walked her to her bed, sat her down, then placed a chair for himself next to her. The two sat in silence for a long while until Fjornir spoke.

“I know how you must be feeling, Eirin.”

She had reclined with her back against the headboard. She looked at the man they called the Dragonborn.“What happened when you found out who you were?”

Fjornir thought a moment. “Shock, and awe, same as you. I had just killed a dragon, the first one I'd seen since....” He shook the memory of Helgen away. “It was the first dragon I'd seen dead, and I helped kill it. I saw the light emerge from its corpse. The whole time, I was _terrified_.” He looked up at her. “ _That_ comment never leaves this room.” Eirin nodded, and he continued. “I couldn’t stop it from entering me, the light, merging with my own soul. It hurt, like I had too much air in my body and I was about to split open. When the pain subsided, I didn't even know what to ask _myself_ what had happened, let alone others. I stood there, staring at the skeleton of the dragon. Its flesh had entirely disappeared, but for a few scales from its head.” Fjornir reached beneath his armor and pulled out something attached to a string. He lifted the necklace from around his neck and handed it to Eirin.

She took it from him. “It's so heavy! This is a dragonscale?” Fjornir nodded. Eirin felt the object's smooth, hard surface, then handed it back to Fjornir. He replaced it around his neck. “So, when did you find out? About what happened, I mean. Got your answers?”

“A few days later. I had to make a trek to the top of a mountain, east of Whiterun. Old men who call themselves The Greybeards... sort of priests.... They were waiting for me.”  
  
“And they helped you?”

“And trained me. Or, rather, helped me train myself. They said what I can do, it comes from my blood. My own soul. I have a feeling that what _you_ can do is similar. It's within you, but you have to realize it. That much you've now done. But perhaps you need help to hone the skill, like I needed help to hone mine.”

“But who, Fjornir? No one in my family has ever done that, make lightning.”

“No one? At all?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not that I'm aware of. But...” her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of the events. “I've been thinking.... Others like me, they can create fire, like that bandit.... Deadly fire, or a gentle flame that lights a hearth. Others create ice spears that can pierce flesh, or a refreshing rain. And air... horrible winds that can uproot trees, or a light breeze.” She looked up at Fjornir. “We, my family, always thought that our healing somehow manipulated a person's very life force. That this is what caused people's bodies to heal. But what if....” her voice trailed off and she stared at nothing.

“What if?” he asked.

She thought a moment. “What happens when a man is struck my lightning from the sky?” she asked him.

“He dies,” he answered.

She sat up on the side of the bed and faced Fjornir. “Before he dies, his heart stops. Or so I've been told.... I don't know how anyone could know this but... I suppose someone witnessed it....” She bit her lip. “What if... what if the healing energy that comes from my hands is not manipulating some kind of magical life force that no one can explain, but, like the lightning...” she stared at her hands. “Like the lightning that stops a man's heart, like the terrible gusts of wind others like me can generate... what if my healing is the gentler version of that? Like the gentle breeze?” She looked up at him.

Fjornir leaned back in his chair thought about what she said. She may be right. “Do you think you could do it again? Make the lightning?”

She examined her hands again. “I don't know.”

“You should try. What did you feel when it happened?”

“My hands tingled. Like little needles pricked them everywhere.”  
  
“No, I mean, your self. Emotions. What did you feel?”

Looking up at him, she recalled the moment Fjornir was about to lose his head. “I didn't want you to die,” she admitted.

Her words hit Fjornir hard. _Does_ _she actually care about me that much?_ he wondered. He recalled the events of that morning and felt heartsick. But he thought he understood, now. “Defense. Perhaps triggered by some protective instinct. What do you have to do to heal someone? Do you feel anything then?”

“No, not really. I just imagine the person being healed, and this happens...” she held her right hand out to Fjornir. It radiated a soft yellow glow.

“And how long have you been doing that? Healing?”

“Most of my life.”

“Then that's what you need - time, and practice,” Fjornir said. “Practice on trees, or training dummies.”

“I don't want to _kill_ people, Fjornir.” Her eyes filled with water.

Fjornir sighed. “No one does, Eirin.”

The two sat there in silence once more.

After a while, Fjornir stood, then sat next to her on the bed. “How about this,” he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Try to do it a few more times. Maybe you'll need a trigger like in the cave, maybe not. If it makes you too weak every time, you should avoid it. If practice makes it easier.... then maybe you should be fighting with us, after all.”

She hung her head low. “I don't think I'm cut out for battle.”

“Could have fooled me.” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned her head to his. His smile was warm, friendly. He suddenly stood to leave, but turned to her. “Sleep now. We'll talk more in the morning.” He shut the door behind him.

Eirin sunk back onto the bed and considered all the implications of assuming a new role. Battle mage. The knowledge that she will kill people. But what if she got killed, herself? No, Galmar would never allow it. He considered her too priceless to use for anything other than healing. But curiosity won her over in the end. She wanted to know if she could make lightning again. 


	6. Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirin practices her newfound skills.

 The following morning at breakfast, Galmar sat across from Fjornir.

“You didn't check in last night, Dragonborn.”

Fjornir looked up from his stew. “We returned late.”

Galmar scowled, but continued, “Everything go alright then? No injuries to my Healer?”

“Everything went fine, Galmar. Only we found seven bandits, no more.” Fjornir had put the loot they found in the meeting hall adjacent to the main hall.

Galmar shrugged. “Good enough. We'll see if Brunwulf has any further complaints. Ulfric says for you to stick around from now on, though. We expect word any day from the other troops.”

Fjornir nodded. He looked down the table. Eirin was sitting next to Jorleif the Steward, and Wuunferth, the Court Wizard. _Court wizard?_ Fjornir thought. He wondered if Eirin was talking to him about the incident in the cave.

Silda was not present.

After breakfast, Fjornir found Eirin sitting in her room, reading.

“ _The Lusty Argonian Maid,_ hmm?” Fjornir smiled down at Eirin. He was leaning against the door frame.

She laid the book onto a low table. “It's not as 'lusty' as I would have hoped,” she said. She realized that she just said the words aloud and her face and ears flushed bright pink.

Fjornir laughed. “Well then, my lusty magical Healer. Feel like testing out your shockingly deadly fingers?” He held out his hands in front of his chest and wriggled his fingers in a flourish.

Eirin laughed, and nodded. “Sure. But where?”

Fjornir knew just the place.

The pair snuck out of the palace and made their way to the stables. It was snowing, and Eirin was glad she put on her fur coat over her hide clothing. They tacked their horses and Fjornir lead the way to a nearby scattered patch of pines. The horse's gallop was slow, but sturdy. The horses of Cyrodiil were sleeker, taller, and had a more bumpy gait. Eirin thought she could ride these Skyrim horses all day.

Fjornir stood next to Eirin, facing a dead, bare pine tree. “Ok, go,” he said.

“Go what?” she asked.

“Don't think about it. Just make the lightning happen.”

“I'm pretty sure I have to think about it, Fjornir.”

He smiled at Eirin, stepped back, aimed his head at a branch on the dead tree, and shouted, “YOL!”

A small burst of fire flew from Fjornir's mouth toward the branch and set it aflame.

Eirin turned to him in awe. “Was that...”

“Dragon-fire.” He turned back to her.

“But didn't it,” she touched his lips, “hurt?”

Fjornir smiled and took hold of her hand. “No. Watch closely,” he backed away again. “Watch my mouth.” He stood with his side to her, and shouted again. Another burst of flame shot out.

Eirin studied his mouth closely. “It doesn't come from you.”  
  
“The Word comes from me. The fire comes from the Word.”

“And the air catches fire?”

“Something like that,” he confirmed.

“And you don't think, you just, do?”

“Say, yes. It takes some energy, but not much. But I'm told it comes more naturally to me than it would anyone else. Like your healing comes naturally to you. It makes sense, then, that the lightning should come again just as easily, with some practice.”

Eirin bit her lip. “What was that you did to that dragon? Before I healed you?”

Fjornir looked around him for something to demonstrate with. He decided on a snowberry bush. “Keep your eyes on that bush,” he indicated with his finger. Fjornir inhaled deeply, then shouted at the berry bush, “FUS ROH!”.

Eirin watched as the red berries flew off of the bush and into the snow. She looked back at Fjornir. “Wind!”

He smiled. “I suppose so.”

“Can you do what I do? Heal? Lightning? Or like others? Ice?” She was excited at the prospect.

Fjornir shook his head. “No, not really. Though I learn new Words all the time. New powers. Maybe something like those do exist. And, no, I can't Heal. I have no training in magic.” He grasped her hand. “No aptitude for it.” He smiled at the young woman. “Now, go.” He pointed at the dead tree.

Eirin frowned slightly. She didn't know how to just 'go'. She turned to the dead tree, held her hand out, palm facing away, and imagined the tree lit up by lightning. Her hand emitted a faint yellow glow. She lowered her hand in dismay.

“Again,” Fjornir ordered.

And again, her healing glow.

“Fjornir, I don't think it's going to happen.”

“You said when you Heal someone, you imagine them healed. Did you imagine the tree dead?”

“It _is_ dead,” she said.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, Fjornir, I saw it lit up in sparks. But obviously I like the tree too much and don't want to hurt the poor thing.” Her tone wreaked of sarcasm.

Fjornir smirked. “Ok, so, maybe you do need a trigger. Imagine the tree is a giant and it wants to eat you.”

Eirin sighed, but she tried what he said. She stared at the tree, arm up, palm out.

As she attempted to create the lightning again, she heard a scream. Fjornir's scream. Guttural, visceral, fatal. Terrified, she turned to where the scream came from and saw him lying on the snow, thrashing about.

He was pretending to be attacked by his own helmet.

“Fjornir, what in Tamriel are you doing?”

His screaming faded to a whine and he slowed his thrashing. He looked at Eirin's hands. “That,” he said, pointing at her hands.

Eirin looked down and saw tiny sparks between her fingers. She hadn't noticed the tingling and tiny invisible needles that pricked her hands. As the sparks continued, the tingling in her hands grew more intense. Not painful, but not comfortable either. Her eyes were wide in shock.

Fjornir stood, and smiled at her. He indicated toward the dead tree with his head.

Eirin turned, pressed both palms outward, and sent flashes of crackling light at the dead tree. The entire tree soon lit up in sparks. Eirin smelled burning wood. Soon, the sparks faded, but small tufts of smoke rose from the branches.

And then, she fainted.

* * *

 _Eirin,_ she heard her name spoken softly. Was she dreaming? She felt cold. Shaking. Someone grabbed and shook her. Someone was holding her captive in a cold ice cave. She wanted to lash out at her captor but she was paralyzed. _Eirin,_ her name again. Her captor slapped her across the face.

Fjornir watched as Eirin slowly opened her eyes.

Her vision was blurry. Her captor had made her blind.

“Eirin,” Fjornir said, louder now.

She blinked rapidly. Her pupils contracted and her vision returned. She saw Fjornir's face above hers. Worry lines creased his forehead. She raised her right hand to his face. Her fingers lightly touched his lower cheek and chin, feeling his soft, red-brown stubble. Fjornir smiled.

“I did it,” Eirin said, weakened.

“You did,” Fjornir confirmed. “And then you fainted.” His voice was low, gentle.

Eirin struggled to sit up. Her legs were cold from lying in the snow. Fjornir held her unstable body, then sat her down on a time-worn tree stump. He sat next to her, close, and rubbed her legs and arms to warm her shivering body.

“Did I faint last time, in the cave?” she asked.

“Almost. Iver caught you, then. I wasn't as quick.” He pushed back loosened strands of hair from her face. “Is your head alright?”

Eirin nodded. She looked upset. “What if it makes me weak, every time? I can't fight if that's the case.” Fjornir held her at the waist. Though his steel armor was ice cold, his arm was warm.

“No, that wouldn't be a good idea,” he admitted. His chin rested on the top of her head. “If you want to try again, though, I'll be ready to catch you.”

Eirin let out a shallow, sobbing sigh. Her head lay on Fjornir's frozen steel shoulder. “I don't know, Fjornir. It might just be too much for my body to handle. And if it drains my energy enough to make me faint...”

“...You wouldn't be able to heal,” Fjornir finished her thought.

Eirin raised a hand in front of her. No yellow glow emerged. “Gone,” she said.

Fjornir rubbed her back. “It's alright. The Stormcloaks have plenty of soldiers. They only have one true Healer, though.” Eirin said nothing. “Let's just keep this a secret, then, shall we? Tell Iver that we tried, but it never happened again.”

“But what if it _does_ happen again, Fjornir? What if one day, I get angry, and _ZAP!_ , I accidentally kill someone.”

“I'm sure you've been plenty angry before, Eirin.”

“Well, sure, but...”

“And no sparks?” Fjornir asked.

“No, never before yesterday. And, yes, I've had plenty to be angry about....” In a way, she'd wished she'd accidentally killed her ex-husband.

“Markarth?” Fjornir asked.

Eirin looked up at him. He remembered. She nodded. “Markarth.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No,” her voice clipped the word short.

Fjornir felt her body stiffen. “Alright.” A moment later, he said, “Want to head back?”

“Yeah...” she said.

Fjornir helped her up, but she could stand on her own now.

They rode back to the palace slowly, their horses side by side.

When Eirin reached out her hand to Fjornir, he took it in his own, and held it tight.


	7. News of Helgen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirin learns of the fate of her hometown.

 No one noticed Fjornir and Eirin's absence that morning. Iver, Erich and some newer recruits were noisily gambling in one of the guest rooms.

No word came from the other troops. To pass the time, Fjornir and Eirin took walks around Windhelm. One sunny day, they looked at the goods at the open market, pretending to be interested in the wares. Fjornir play-inspected daggers and swords, but always feigned disappointment in either their quality or price. Eirin claimed she was looking for a necklace for her mother, but said none of them would have been to her liking.  
  
“What about you?” Fjornir asked Eirin.

“What?” She turned to him.

“Do _you_ like any of these jewels? My treat.” He smiled. His expression turned from facetious to serious.

Eirin blushed. “I... no. I mean _yes_ , but, I don't need any jewelry.” She spun the charm on her necklace.

Fjornir glanced at the simple charm. He thought it was a polished piece of bone, but couldn't be sure. He turned to the vendor. “Sorry, miss, not today.” The tall elf half-smiled, half-grimaced and turned to another customer.

They left the market and walked toward nowhere. A while later, Eirin asked, “Why did you do that?”

Fjornir was confused. “Do what?”

“Offer to buy me jewelry.”

Fjornir suddenly felt embarrassed. “No reason,” he lied.

Eirin spun the charm around her necklace again.

Fjornir wanted to kick himself in the stomach for being so weak.

More silence.

“Is that old?” he indicated the charm.

“From my childhood,” her hand remained on the bone charm.

“In Helgen?”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

“It was a nice little town,” he said. “I'm glad you made it out alive.”

Eirin stopped in her tracks and spun on her toes to Fjornir. “What?”

Fjornir gulped. _She doesn't know?_ he asked himself. “Helgen. It was destroyed by a dragon not long ago.”

“ _WHAT?!”_ Eirin nearly shrieked.

“I...” He didn't know what to do. “I'm sorry, Eirin. I figured you knew.”

Eirin turned and ran.

Fjornir followed her around the bends of the city. “Eirin!” he shouted after her. “Wait! Where are you going?”

She was running toward the south gate.

Fjornir panicked. He saw the guards. “Stop her!” he ordered them.

The two guards easily detained the woman, though she struggled against their strong grips.

Fjornir caught up to her. “Eirin, what are you doing?”

  
  
“I need to go home!” She screamed at him.

“There _is_ no home, Eirin! It's gone! Burnt!” He calmed. “I'm sorry.”

She began to weep, then, and stopped resisting the guards. Fjornir took her into his arms. They sat on stone steps near the gate. For a long time, Fjornir let her cry on his shoulder. He was no longer wearing his steel armor, but warm civilian clothes. His hand stroked her long braid, and cradled her against him.

“I am truly sorry, Eirin. I wish I knew who escaped alive. The townspeople, I mean. I know some soldiers did, both Stormcloaks and Imperials, but I don't know about civilians.”

Eirin looked up. Her face was reddened and wet. Fjornir dried a cheek with his hand. “You were there?” Fjornir nodded. “What happened?”

Fjornir related the story to Eirin. How he was almost wrongfully executed, how an Imperial had a change of heart and tried to rescue as many people as possible, and how in the chaos, only he and a man named Hadvar escaped together. He figured the other soldiers he saw escaped, too. From there he went on his own to Whiterun, back to Jorrvaskr and his Companion friends, and was convinced to inform the Jarl. “That's when all this Dragonborn business really began, after Helgen.”

Eirin sniffled. Her crying slowed now. “Do you think Ulfric would let us go there? To Helgen?”

Fjornir tightened his arms around the woman. “I doubt it, Eirin. There is nothing left to go back to, anyway. I'm sure your family made it out alive. Perhaps if our troops are stationed near there, we can ask around for them.” A moment later, he said, “Let's go back to the palace, ok?”

Fjornir felt her nod.

The pair walked back to the palace and up to the second floor. The others were gambling again in one of the rooms. Fjornir lead Eirin to his room, which was further away from the ruckus.

For the rest of the afternoon, Fjornir lay in his bed with Eirin in his arms. The silent and gentle embrace calmed her. Fjornir felt awful about how he had tried to manipulate situations in which Eirin would be with him, near him and talking with him, so that she would get to know him better, maybe learn to want him as much as he did her.

Eventually, Eirin slept. Fjornir ran his hand over her braid. He wondered how she felt about him. Was he just a good friend, who trained, comforted and amused her? She had been confused, shocked even when he offered to buy her jewelry. Friends don't buy friends jewelry. Or, do they? _Sometimes,_ he thought.

Fjornir listened to her steady breathing.

She had held his hand the other day, after fainting in the forest. But he had been there for her as a trainer, as a companion, nothing more. He sighed. He wanted more than anything to kiss her. To hold her in his arms with the knowledge that he wasn't just being a kind friend. It pained him to be this close to her, and yet so far.

 _Perhaps_ _I_ _deserve it after the incident with Silda_ , he thought.

He silently scolded himself and continued to stroke Eirin's long braid.

After a while, Fjornir allowed himself to sleep.


	8. A Comforting Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirin finds comfort in the arms of the Dragonborn.

 Fjornir awoke some time in the evening. He felt Eirin's absence from his arms; she had moved to her side, but still slept. Fjornir turned onto his side and looked at her back. Blankets covered her body, and accentuated her round hips and tapered waist. He ached to hold her.

Acting against his better judgment, Fjornir slid closer to her. He covered himself with the same blankets and immediately felt her warmth. He slowly, gently pressed his body closer to hers, and placed his hand on her waist. He waited for any response. He feared Eirin's eventual reaction.

No movement. Fjornir leaned forward and kissed her neck. He moved closer, pressing his body against hers. His arm wrapped around her body. He felt Eirin settle back into him. Her arm wrapped around his. Was her movement instinctual, or responsive? Fjornir couldn't tell.

Fjornir remained still. He wanted this moment to last forever.

But Eirin shifted. Her hand reached up and behind her, pulling Fjornir's extended right arm under her neck and settling into him again.

Fjornir's fears abated. They held each other for a long time. Finally, Eirin said, “I'm hungry.”

Fjornir chuckled. “Me too.”

Eirin left the embrace and sat up. She looked at Fjornir. “Dinner?”Fjornir nodded.

Her face was still red from crying.

The pair went down to the main hall. They sat across from one another and ate hungrily. It was later than they thought. Only two of the newer recruits still dined at the far end of the table, far from Fjornir and Eirin.

Between sips of wine, Fjornir spoke softly. “Eirin....”

“Hmm?” she looked up at Fjornir from her bowl of soup.

Liquid courage. “I need to....” Her soft brown eyes disarmed him. More wine.

“Need to what?” She blinked. Sipped her soup.

Fjornir cleared his throat and put down the wine bottle. He looked over at Eirin, who was still sipping her soup, watching him. He just gazed at her. She put her soup spoon down.

“What is it, Fjornir?” She reached across the table and put her hand on his.

He couldn't hold himself back any longer, but Eirin sat at the other side of a wide table. He would have to practically jump across it to kiss her lips, and would spill food and drink in the process. Thinking fast, Fjornir took her hand in both of his, leaned forward, and brought it to his lips. He closed his eyes as he kissed her palm.

Eirin was taken by surprise. The two heard quiet chuckling from elsewhere in the room. The new recruits had seen the gesture and appreciated the show. Fjornir glared at them. They quieted, and quickly left the hall.

Fjornir lowered his hands, still holding Eirin's. He avoided eye contact with her. When he felt her other hand cup his cheek, he finally looked up. She was smiling.

When she stood and walked away, Fjornir became unsettled and nervous. Surely this was her way of politely refusing his advances. He closed his eyes and hung his head, defeated.

Eirin moved quietly in her leather boots. Fjornir did not hear her approach from behind. When she wrapped her arms around his chest and pressed her lips against his neck, he gasped. His arms clung to hers. She whispered in his ear, “Me too.”

Fjornir turned and looked back at her. He felt his entire body melt at seeing her sweet smile.

And then she kissed him, briefly.

Her soft full lips lifted off of his and she brushed his nose with her own. She sat down next to him on the bench, one arm still around his shoulders. Fjornir was speechless. He reach up and caressed the side of her face. His fingers traced a path down her neck and shoulder. Her moistened lips partied slightly.

Fjornir was almost in tears at the sight of her beauty. He leaned forward and kissed her forcefully, but Eirin broke away.

She stood again, her big, soft brown eyes flashing. “Come....”

 _Those eyes will be the death of me,_ Fjornir thought.

* * *

In the privacy of her room, Eirin embraced Fjornir once more. His hands cupped each side of her face. She parted her lips. Their tongues touched and explored one another's mouths. Fjornir felt a wetness on his fingers. He broke the embrace and looked down at Eirin. She was crying.

He wiped away her tears. “Worried about your family?” he asked.

She nodded.

Fjornir thought a moment. “Perhaps, in the mean time, we could send out letters. To anyone you think may know if they are alive, where they are.” He brushed back loose strands of hair from her face. “Would that help?”

She nodded again. Through her sadness, she was smiling at him. She kissed him again.

The touch of her lips on his drove Fjornir wild every time. He wondered if she sensed his passion.

While kissing him, she tugged at his heavy tunic and walked backwards to her bed.

Fjornir thought even if she didn't sense his passion, hers equaled his.

Eirin sat on the edge of the bed. Her hands, still gripping his tunic, pulled him on top of her. Still kissing, she crawled backwards onto the large bed. Fjornir now lay on top of her. Eirin's hands slipped from his chest to his torso, then to his thighs. Her hands found the bottom of the tunic and slid under it. She tugged at his undershirt and untucked it from his heavy trousers.

He felt her hands on his bare skin at his waist. The touch made him gasp. He sat up, still on top of her, and lifted his tunic and undershirt above his head. He still wore his dragonscale necklace. It looked deadly to Eirin. She moved her hands along his torso, traced the contours of his muscles, and stopped at the dragonscale. She pulled down, urging Fjornir to follow. She kissed him harder this time.

The weight of his body on hers was a feeling she had long forgotten over the last few years. The sensation drove out any feelings of sadness and replaced them with lust.

Eirin's hands traveled down Fjornir's back and ended at his belt. She teasingly ran fingers along the edge and dug her nails into his lower back when he failed to rip off his trousers immediately. Fjornir grunted, not in pain, exactly, but unexpected pleasure.

Fjornir lifted himself to his knees. He ran a hand down Eirin's chest. Buttons clasped together her shirt and hid her body from him. He began to undo them, one my one, kissing her chest and torso as he did. A linen binding impolitely restrained her full breasts. He untucked the side of the cloth. Eirin arched her back to allow Fjornir to remove it. There, finally free, were Eirin's magnificent breasts. They entranced him, and he drowned in the sight of them. He bent forward and immediately took a nipple into his mouth and cupped the other breast with his left hand. Eirin moaned. Fjornir's tongue and teeth teased her nipples, neglecting neither one, finally ending with a kiss between her breasts. His mouth lowered until further prohibited by her hide trousers. He untied the leather thongs that held up the pants and slid them down, collecting her underwear along the way. He tossed them to the floor.

Eirin wore nothing but a smile now. Her skin glowed orange in the candlelight. She reached up to Fjornir's torso and slid her hands lower to the straining fabric between his legs. Fjornir groaned. Just one touch and she made him weak. She worked at the belt that kept his body contained. Once unbuckled, his heavy trousers fell to his knees. He bucked them off and rapidly untied his loincloth.

Eirin studied the sparse brown hair that covered his chest and the middle of his torso, ending in a 'V' between his legs. She eyed the rest of his body. So muscular, so large. Everything about him was superhuman.

Fjornir lowered himself to her. Their kisses intensified. Eirin wrapped her soft legs around Fjornir. He wanted to kiss every part of her body, all day, every day. He began with her neck, sucking harder than he knew he should. He nibbled lightly on a shoulder, cupped a breast in one hand and suckled on another. His lips found her torso. Not lean and muscular, but soft and womanly. He sucked on her inner thigh, the space between her thigh and mound, and then the other thigh. Eirin began to whimper.

Fjornir glanced up her body. Her mouth was open and she inhaled deeply. Her hands caressed her own breasts. Fjornir lowered himself between her legs and received his first taste of the Healer. The lightest pressure from his tongue caused her to cry out, but he continued. His tongue continued to tease her while he slipped a large finger, then two inside of her. He felt her muscles contract. Her moaning escalated. He replaced his tongue with his thumb and moved up beside her. With his hand still between her legs, he kissed her neck, breast, and finally her lips. Her mouth vibrated in one moan after another.

Her lips left his to catch her breath. His fingers and thumb continued their synchronized movement and his mouth found a breast again. One of her arms wrapped around his back while the other clenched at the bed sheet. Her cries became muted squeals as her body began to shudder in climax.

He lowered himself between her legs again to taste the new wetness. He rose. She looked down at him with her big brown eyes and sweet smile.

Fjornir couldn't wait any longer. He guided himself into her, deep, aided by her excitement. Their bodies melded and limbs entwined as he thrust into her. He wanted to ravage her, hard, fast and deep, but he held back. He wanted this to last more than a moment.

He held himself above her and they looked upon one another's face as they made love. Slow, deep, deeper. Sweat began to bead on Fjornir's chest. Eirin lowered him down for another kiss. Her own hips encouraged a faster pace. Her hands gripped his backside, massaging, clenching, digging her nails into the muscular flesh. Faster. Deeper.

Fjornir gritted his teeth. _Not yet,_ he told himself. _Wait_. But when Eirin's cries increased in volume and upward thrusts grew more desperate, he complied. He thrust harder, as deeply as possible into the woman. When she screamed out his name, he let himself go. Their chorus of moans echoed against the stone walls and ceiling.


	9. A Crown for their King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirin finds her long lost friend.

 The morning was peaceful. Fjornir and Eirin skipped breakfast downstairs and opted for a more intimate setting, feeding each other snowberries and jazbay grapes from an ornate bowl. They shared honeywater from a silver goblet, stealing sweet, soft kisses between sips. They made love again, slowly, each of them tasting of fruit and honey. At mid-morning, they needed more to eat, and shared a loaf of bread and some goat cheese, then washed it down with more honeywater.

They lost track of how long they'd lied their, holding one another.

Eirin learned more about Fjornir's past. About his life after the orphanage, his befriending of warriors known as the Companions, details about the Greybeards and the trials they posed, and his many missions and quests before arriving in Windhelm. About the monsters and evil things he'd seen, and some of the more terrible things he'd done.

He told her about Silda. He had to.

Eirin sat up. “So that's why she disappeared...” she realized. The news hurt her a little, but she understood. He was lustful, and Silda was there....

Fjornir nodded. “I asked Galmar to send her elsewhere. I had to. She was... She'd treated me like the object of a quest, in the end.”

Suddenly, Eirin realized how others must see him.

The Dragonborn. Superhuman, super handsome, super needed, and super used.

“I'm so sorry, Fjornir.” She caressed his rough cheek.

“What for?”

“For who you are. You're known by _everyone_ in Skyrim. Even in Markarth I'd heard of you, tales of your deeds, your looks. Everything from your gigantic height to your gigantic--”

“--'Sword'. Yes, I've heard that one, myself.” They laughed.

Eirin kissed him. “Well, I like the size of your sword. Any bigger and I'd think you really _were_ half-dragon.”

Fjornir let out a guttural laugh and held her tight against him.

His smile faded to somewhat of a pained look. “I had a dream about you,” he said quietly, “That morning Silda came to me.” His face flushed at the memory. “I couldn't help myself with her, but I wanted you. Only you.” He looked into Eirin's eyes.

Eirin shook her head. “But, we barely knew one another then. How could you know such a thing?”

Fjornir smiled. He ran his hand down her tousled braid. “Since becoming 'The Dragonborn', you're the first woman I've met that has treated me like a normal, ordinary man.”

She looked at him, wide-eyed, unsure how to respond. Surely not every woman fawned over him so blatantly?

“ _Not 'Healer', not 'Eirin the Healer', just..... Eirin_ _,_ ” Fjornir repeated what she so brazenly said to him days before.

Her eyebrow raised. “You liked me because I was _brash_?”

He laughed. “Yes, I suppose I did.” He smiled at her. “You got my attention.”

Fjornir kissed her, and felt his loins tighten again.

A knock at the door ended the moment.

Fjornir sighed, draped a bed sheet around his waist and left the room.

Eirin supposed it was to protect her privacy.

A moment later, Fjornir returned. He looked grim.

Eirin sat up. “What's happened?”

Fjornir whipped the bed sheet from his body and let it fly. He marched up to the bed and kissed her lips so hard she thought her lips might bleed.

Fjornir looked into her eyes. Finally, he said, “Word's come in. We march to Korvanjund.”

* * *

The small troop left immediately to the ruins in the west. Once there, they were to meet up with another two troops at a small camp just out of sight of the ruin. Scouts had spotted Imperials already there, so Fjornir's troop had to skirt the ruins to reach the camp unnoticed.

Galmar made Iver, her assigned bodyguard, promise to not let Eirin into the ruin itself. Too much danger inside, he'd said. Enough Stormcloaks would be inside to defend the Dragonborn if necessary. Eirin despised being so overprotected, but she obeyed.

As she and Iver waited just east of the ruin in seclusion, Eirin felt the charm at her neck. She wondered if her old friend would be here, since he wasn't at Windhelm.

“Did they tell you why we're here, Iver?” Eirin asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “An old artifact, I heard someone say. An ancient crown. Ulfric wanted it.”

“Oh,” Eirin said. She wondered why an artifact was so important that Ulfric would risk his soldiers' lives.

The sun lay uncomfortably low in the western sky. Eirin suggested they carefully make way toward the small camp just west of the ruin, and Iver agreed.

No one was outside the ruin, nor in the camp. They lit a fire and watched the sky grow pink, dark blue, and then black. Eirin and Iver sat with their backs opposite one another for added protection.

Finally, shouts emerged from the ruin. Men and women were celebrating. There he was, Fjornir, holding a torch and waving the others forward. Relief flooded over Eirin and Iver.

Eirin fetched her knapsack of supplies, ready to heal any injuries. Fjornir approached the small camp first and kissed the Healer. She smelled blood and pushed him back. “Are you bleeding?”

“No,” he said, “Not mine. There are a few injured, though. Others are helping them out now.”

A woman arrived with an arrow piercing through her thigh, just missing the bone. Since the wound was on the outer part of the thigh it was not fatal, but Eirin thought it best to Heal her once the arrow was broken and pulled out, just in case. The partially-open hole in the soldier's leg would still require stitches.

A young man received a bad gash to his face. Eirin cleaned the wound, stitched him up, and Healed him enough so that the scar would not be too rough.

“One more wounded coming, Eirin,” a soldier told her.

This one was badly injured; he had to be carried on a makeshift stretcher made out of pieces of wood and cloth. The porters laid the man down before her by the campfire, walked away, and the injured soldier looked up at the Healer.

Eirin dropped her roll of fresh bandages.

“Ralof?” she asked quietly, unsure if it was really him or if the campfire was playing tricks with her vision.

The man squinted. Eirin kneeled down in front of him. His blue eyes widened in recognition. “Eirin,” he said. His brow furrowed. “What in Tamriel are _you_ doing here?” His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

Ralof's tone shocked her. She momentarily forgot what she had come here to do. “I'm here to Heal you, apparently. Where are you injured?”

The soldier took a moment to respond. “Dislocated shoulder. Gash on my leg.” He looked away from her, into the campfire. Eirin searched for a gash, but it was on the other leg. She moved. “I'll need to patch this up before fixing your shoulder.”

“Fine,” Ralof said. Wherever she was, he looked the other way.

Eirin cleaned his leg and stitched it up. She wondered why Ralof didn't express the pain she was surely causing him. She Healed the wound as much as she could. At the very least, she could prevent infection and speed the closing of the wound.

“I'll need to get help to fix your shoulder,” she said to him.

Ralof said nothing.

His attitude confused and worried her, but she grabbed two soldiers nearby to help hold Ralof down.

“This will hurt,” she said to Ralof.

Eirin didn't wait for him to acknowledge her warning. She expected he wouldn't. In a quick motion, a pop was heard and his shoulder was reset. Ralof's scream betrayed his aloofness. She Healed the shoulder, just in case tendons were torn. Otherwise, the use of the arm may be forever inhibited.

She thanked the other soldiers and kneeled again in front of Ralof. “I think you'll live. Sorry about the pain.”

Her words hit Ralof unexpectedly hard. Tears were in his eyes when he glared back at Eirin.

“We need to get the wounded into the carts,” Fjornir said as he approached. He was flashing a horned, tarnished crown in front of her. Eirin stood, but held Ralof's searing and pained gaze.

Soldiers lifted Ralof's stretcher and took him away. Fjornir watched the Healer. “Do you know Ralof, Eirin?”

She stood silent a moment. “Yes, I know him.”

She clutched the charm at her neck.


	10. Broken Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirin confronts Ralof.

Eirin was thankful for Fjornir's exhaustion upon returning to Windhelm. She needed rest, too, but also knew if Fjornir had made advances toward her, she would have refused. Too much weighed on her mind.

The Dragonborn slept soundly at her side while she stared at the stone ceiling, replaying the night's events.

 _Ralof._ She spun the bone bead at her neck.

 _Ralof avoiding me._ She recalled the day he gave her the charm.

 _Ralof with hate and tears in his eyes._ An old rune meaning 'forever' was engraved around the bead.

Nearly a decade had passed, but he still hadn't forgiven her.

Eirin thought if Ralof only knew how much she regretted leaving, how horrible her life had been, and how desperately she missed her best friend, then maybe he'd resent her less....

Ralof and the other soldiers that gathered that afternoon were here now in Windhelm. Some were staying at the inns, others, such as the injured, were staying at the palace.

  
Several soldiers stayed at the Nightgate Inn near the ruins. In the morning, they were to ride to all the other Stormcloak camps.

The entire army was being mustered.

Eirin thought perhaps tonight may be her only chance to seek out Ralof in privacy.

As the Healer, she knew where the injured were sleeping.

Eirin rose from her bed, put on a warm robe and simple shoes, and left her bedroom.

A dozen or so soldiers carried on their celebrations in the main hall. Fortunately, Eirin did not have to leave the upstairs corridor. She opened the door to the room where Ralof had been carried. He lay on his back on the large bed, the same bed every guest room had on this side of the palace. The lower-ranked soldiers slept on the other side, and in the barracks. When she closed the door behind her, she saw Ralof was not asleep.

“I'm fine,” is all he said.

“I'm not here for that.” Eirin grabbed a chair and placed it next to the bed. She sat down and stared at the man. His arms were crossed over his chest, his injured arm in a sling.

Neither of them knew what to say.

Finally, Ralof spoke while staring at the ceiling. “How's your husband? Must be worried sick with you joining the Rebellion.” His tone was so bitter that it stung.

“He's not my husband anymore,” Eirin responded.

Ralof wasn't sure how to respond to the news. “Leave him too, did you?”

Eirin's heart hurt. “Yes,” she said. “After he left me.”

Silence.

Eirin felt the need to explain why she left Helgen. She wondered if Ralof would listen, if he would even care.

“I hadn't heard from you in a year, Ralof,” she explained. “I'd even begun to wonder if you were dead. I'd sent so many letters...”  
  
“I never got any letters,” Ralof interjected.

“I sent them,” she said defiantly, glaring at him. “Every month when the courier came. I waited. Even your sister didn't know where you were.”

“You _knew_ I was training!” he was angry now. He forced himself to sit up. “I was all over the damn country, but never in the south.” His uninjured arm flailed about. “It wasn't my fault we had no opportunity to write anyone.” He stared at the woman at his side.

“I had no way of knowing, Ralof,” Eirin began to cry. “I joined my father on his trade route, just to get my mind off of you. I was in such bad shape.... He practically forced me to go along with him, just so he'd be sure I would eat.” Ralof looked away. “I can't help that I fell in love with someone else, Ralof. I was 17.... You were gone.” Eirin's hands began to shake.

Ralof avoided looking at her.

She composed herself and continued. “Vorstag and I married when I became pregnant. Life was good, then, but the boy died young. After that.... Vorstag changed. Before, he was kind and romantic, charming even. But then he grew stern, avoided me, was secretive. He began to go away so often on jobs, I grew suspicious. And I was right to do so. I found out he had been sleeping with a tavern maid since before he and I married. He only stopped when I became pregnant and after Sjoring was born. He was so happy to have a son.... When Sjoring died, he started seeing her again....”

Ralof turned his head to her. Eirin was staring at her feet.

“When I confronted him about it, he hit me.” Eirin felt the stinging memory on her cheek. “I tried to leave, two years ago, but he found out. Beat me nearly dead. A beggar found me and carried me to the apothecary. So, I stayed.... It's easy to convince someone so young that it would be impossible to leave... but particularly effective when they threaten to have your father _killed_ if you tried to leave again....” She held her hands together to keep them from shaking.

“When Hroki, his mistress, became pregnant, Vorstag forced me to sever our bonds. As if I'd have protested.... But as an added bonus he kicked me out of the house and onto the streets. A few days later, when he and Hroki left for work, I broke in to what was once our home and packed as many of my belongings as I could. I stole his horse and rode directly to Riverwood, but Gerdur said you were somewhere with the Stormcloaks, so I went to Windhelm....” Eirin wiped her tears away.

Ralof finally spoke again. “I'm sorry he beat you.” And he really was. He felt an unexpected anger at the man who hurt her. But Ralof was still furious with the woman before him. “What did you think would happen, Eirin? You would come to Windhelm, find me and we'd live happily ever after?”

“I don't know, Ralof.” She slowly shook her head. She looked up at him, finally gaining his full attention. “But for years I was utterly miserable and a prisoner in my own home, and the only thoughts that kept me going were the memories of you and me!” She sobbed and clutched at the charm around her neck.

It was then that Ralof noticed the bone bead. Her twelfth birthday present from him.

The day he promised to marry her when they were old enough.

Ralof felt sick.

Eirin continued, staring at her hands. “I regret ever leaving, Ralof. If nothing else, I wanted... I _need_ you to know that. I would give anything to change the past....” She stood to leave. Just before she opened the door, she turned and spoke softly, avoiding eye contact. “I just hoped that, one day, you could forgive me.”

As Eirin closed the door, she heard Ralof shout, “You _broke_ my _HEART!_ ”

Against a wall outside Ralof's bedroom, Eirin sank to the cold stone beneath her. Her sobbing was uncontrollable now. Her entire body shook.

She knew she ought to get back to her room, to Fjornir, but she couldn't move. What she really needed was to crawl into Ralof's strong arms and cry, to mourn together their irrevocable past. She felt her breath quicken and she was struggling for air, like that day in the cave. She recalled how Fjornir made her calm down. Deep breaths. Force deep breaths. Slower. Slow it down. Eirin swallowed hard and felt calmer. She wondered if Ralof could hear her through the heavy wooden door.

Eirin forced herself to her feet. Standing by Ralof's door, she placed the side of her face and her palm against the wood, and emitted her healing warmth. She knew it was no good, that the dead wood would absorb all the energy, but she had to try. She had to believe that one day her best friend and first love would forgive her. She has lived too long without him in her life.

She suddenly wished her ability could heal more than just broken bodies.

* * *

When Eirin awoke just before dawn, Fjornir's arm was around her body. Last night, upon returning to her room, Eirin thought that the man's embrace would suddenly feel foreign to her, an unwanted presence where Ralof's arm should have been. She was surprised to feel the exact opposite. Fjornir was still sleeping, but his body had nestled behind Eirin's. The comfort she felt both physically and emotionally surprised her. She took Fjornir's right arm and wrapped it tighter around her. Eirin wondered if Fjornir too preferred this position, with him on the left side of the bed and her on the right. Vorstag demanded the right side....

The soft, warm bed and Fjornir's presence calmed her completely. She dozed off again.

A while later, Eirin was awakened by kisses on her neck and bare back. The arm around her tightened, and cupped a breast. Hot breath teased as it flowed down her upper body. A mouth nibbled her earlobe.

“Where did you disappear to last night?” a groggy Fjornir asked.

Eirin was discomfited. Her body tensed. How to answer? “Couldn't sleep...” she explained. “Checked on the wounded.”

Fjornir grunted in response and buried his face in her unbraided hair. He sighed. “I've been worried about Ralof and Tille. Their injuries were quite bad. Henrik, however,” Fjornir laughed, “His face was too pretty anyway.”

Eirin laughed. “You're horrible.”

Fjornir let out a light growl. “I know,” he said before nipping lightly at Eirin's bare shoulder, making her jump. She playfully smacked his arm. “So,” Fjornir said, “How do you know Ralof?”

Eirin gulped. She should tell Fjornir, she really should. But how much did he need to know? She decided to tell him generalities, to start. “We grew up together. We'd been friends since before we could walk.”

“Wow,” Fjornir laid his chin on her shoulder and looked down at her. “That long? No wonder you were shocked to see him.”

“Mmh,” is all Eirin managed to say.

“Did you know he was a Stormcloak?” Fjornir asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “He left to join when he was 18. On his birthday, in fact. Broke his mother's heart....”

“I'll bet.” Fjornir urged Eirin to turn onto her back. He ran his fingers through her long wavy hair and kissed her forehead. “Did he ask you to join?”

Eirin shook her head.

“Did Markarth cause you to join?” Eirin thought that Fjornir's grey-green eyes showed hints of worry, or maybe tentative curiosity.

Eirin recalled the beatings she'd received from her husband. “Fjornir, I thought of something last night. How I'd never experienced the... sparks, before.” She examined her hands. “You said, maybe it was triggered by fear, and anger....” Fjornir caressed a hand. “But what if.... What if I'd never experienced it before, because it's _not_ triggered by fear or anger. I've been angry before. I've been scared to death.” She looked up at her lover. “What if instead it's triggered by love?”

Fjornir considered her words. He kissed her hand. “I wouldn't be surprised.” He leaned forward and kissed her soft, naturally pink lips.

Eirin lifted his head from her. She looked into Fjornir's eyes, and sighed. “Yes, Markarth caused me to join.”

Fjornir sat back. He was intrigued. Eirin leaned against the pillows and headboard. She told Fjornir about her ex-husband, her son's death, the beatings. That when she finally left Markarth, she'd gone straight to Riverwood to seek out Ralof, but he wasn't there, so she rode to Windhelm and joined the Stormcloaks. Not just to find Ralof, but because she knew she could help the cause. And, in a small way, she felt that joining the Rebellion was a minor act of defiance against her awful husband. She had been in such distress that she completely bypassed Helgen. She had seen her father about six months before that, and had figured everyone was still fine.

“Maybe I should write those letters, now,” Eirin thought.

“You know,” Fjornir said, “Ralof was at Helgen, too.”

Eirin's face shot up. “What?”

Fjornir explained how Ralof helped him initially to escape the dragon attack, but in the chaos he lost sight of him. They were both glad to find one another alive, later, when Fjornir joined the Stormcloaks. “But I don't think he'd know any more than I do about your family, Eirin,” he continued. “The situation was just too chaotic.”

“But he might, Fjornir. I have to ask...” Eirin leapt from the bed, threw on her robe and ran into the corridor.

She returned to Ralof's room to find Ulfric and Galmar there. She just stared at the three men staring back at her, suddenly aware of her nakedness under the robe. “I, um, I need to speak with Ralof.” She forced her voice to take on a more dire tone. “About Helgen.”

Ulfric and Ralof exchanged looks. Ralof nodded, and Ulfric and Galmar left. Eirin quickly walked up to Ralof's bed where he sat, propped up by pillows. “Why didn't you tell me about Helgen?”

Ralof glared at her. “You didn't _ask_.”

Eirin let out a sound of exasperation, some mix of a whine and a groan, and sat on a chair. Her head fell into her hands.

Ralof continued. “My friend had just lost his head, and Fjornir was about to. After him, myself and Ulfric and others were all about to die. That combined with a dragon, I had other things on my mind....” Eirin began to weep. “When I saw you last night, I figured you'd stopped by before going to Windhelm.”

Eirin shook her head, still in her hands. “I was just looking for you. Just wanted you. I didn't think....”

Ralof frowned. “I did see Matlara.”  
  
Eirin looked up, tears streaming down her face. “My sister? When? _Alive?_ ”

Ralof shook his head, slowly. “I'm sorry. She was crushed by falling stones knocked loose by the dragon.”

Eirin cried out. She began sobbing heavily now.

It was then Fjornir appeared in the open doorway. “What's wrong?” He saw the sobbing woman, curled into herself on the chair. “Eirin?,” he ran up to her and put his arms around her. Fjornir looked up at Ralof. “What's happened?”

Ralof looked grim. “I saw her sister, at Helgen. She didn't make it.”

Fjornir frowned. He crouched down next to the sobbing Eirin, took her hand in his and kissed it.

Ralof was puzzled by this unexpected scene.

“I'm so sorry, Eirin,” Fjornir said. He ran a hand down her long flowing hair.

Eirin sniffled, and looked at Ralof. “What about Matlara's husband, and their son? Did you see them at all?”

Ralof shook his head. “Not after the dragon attacked, no.”

Eirin began sobbing again. Fjornir wrapped an arm around her and helped her stand. “Come on,” he said quietly, wiping her cheeks dry. “Let's get you back to bed.” Within Eirin clinging to him, Fjornir began to leave, but then turned and said, “Thanks, Ralof. For the news.”

Ralof gave Fjornir a stiff nod before he left with Eirin.

A mix of anger, pain and confusion flooded the wounded soldier. He thought Eirin had come to him the night before to tell him that she still loved him, that she wanted him back. _She still wears my betrothal gift!_ he thought to himself. Was Fjornir merely being kind?

“ _Back to bed_ ,” Ralof repeated Fjornir's words to Eirin.

Jealousy replaced confusion.


	11. Engagements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulfric warns Eirin not to distract the Dragonborn.

Though Fjornir thought it best that Eirin rest, cry and mourn her family, Eirin told him that she needed to take a walk, alone. She wandered around Windhelm for most of the day, and once night fell she found herself wandering around the palace. When she arrived in the map room where Ulfric held strategic meetings, she studied the map of her world. She found Windhelm, Helgen, Whiterun, Markarth and all the landmarks in between, and discovered more villages and features to the east and north. Lost in her thoughts, she failed her hear Ulfric approach behind her.

“What are you doing in here?” The steady, deep voice startled Eirin and she spun around to find Ulfric encroaching on her personal space.

“I...,” Ulfric stood with his face two hand's lengths from hers. “I'd never seen a map of the entire country before.” She gulped. The mere presence of Ulfric was unnerving.

His expression softened somewhat. “You're from Helgen?” Eirin nodded. Ulfric frowned at his own memories of the town. “I am sorry for your loss, Healer.”

Eirin managed a small smile. “I heard,” she began, slowly, “We were headed to Whiterun.” Eirin traced a finger along the river flowing from Windhelm, and then the road that turns westward, in the south. “Will we take the south route? Through Helgen?”

Ulfric eyed the woman he barely knew. “No,” he said. He moved from facing her to standing just behind her right side. Eirin's body tensed. As they faced the southern part of the map, Ulfric leaned forward, molded his body to Eirin's, and traced a path with his own finger. “The troops will cut west, just north of where the river splits, and the entire army will converge in the mountain foothills.” His thick finger followed the river, passed over drawings of towers, water mills, and mammoth skulls, then landed on a bear paw east of Whiterun. “The assault will be staged here,” he moved his finger across the White River to an area just south of Whiterun. “Troops coming from the west will have to bypass the entire area, travel just south of Riverwood,” his finger swept in from the west, “and up along the foothills. From the north,” several fingers landed on the north coast, “moving south, giving Whiterun a wide berth,” his fingers converged and curved slightly east, “across the river, working their way into the camp.”

The entire time Ulfric spoke, Eirin could feel his mouth and breath at her ear. She wondered if he was attempting to intimidate her, but she could not think of why. She spoke with a shaking voice. “Many soldiers say that we need Whiterun for its central position. Fjornir says there is a second reason....”

Ulfric shifted to Eirin's left side. “Does he, now?” The Jarl's strong nose shot heated breath at the nape of her neck. “And what did the Dragonborn say to _'_ _his_ _'_ Healer?”

Eirin's body trembled in a physical reaction beyond her control. She realized then that the Jarl must know about her intimacy with Fjornir. She wondered if such a thing was even allowed among his Stormcloaks. “The palace at Whiterun.... was built to capture dragons. Fjornir....” Eirin swallowed hard. “The Dragonborn... says you both want control of the city. You, Jarl Ulfric, for strategy. The Dragonborn, for luring dragons.”

Ulfric said nothing, but moved to the front of Eirin, forcing her to stand away from the map table and against a stone wall. The Jarl studied the woman, her hide clothing, long braid, and worn, wolf-fur coat. Reading into her eyes, Ulfric asked, calmly, “Why did you join the Rebellion?”

Eirin was confused and anxious. Hadn't she already gone through this with Galmar? Did Ulfric not trust his second-in-command? Did they question her relationship with the Dragonborn?

She finally found her words. “I had many reasons, Jarl Ulfric.”

“Do you praise Talos?” he asked calmly, remaining in front of her.

Her brow creased in frustration. “As much as any other Divine, Jarl Ulfric.”

“Do you hate the Imperials?”

She considered the words carefully, but opted for an honest answer. “I hate no one, Jarl Ulfric.” _Except my ex-husband_ , she thought. _And perhaps the dragon that killed my family...._

The Healer's answer surprised the Jarl. He stood in silence for a moment, slowly scratching his chin. He spoke again. “Not even the dragon that killed your family?” Eirin's breath stopped. Had he read her mind? He continued, “Galmar says you can Heal with magic.” He sat on the map table and folded his arms. “Show me,” he commanded.

Eirin gulped. “Not magic, Jarl Ulfric. Magic is learned. This,” she walked up to him, lifted her hand to his cheek, and emitted a warm yellow glow, “Is as natural to me as breathing.”

Ulfric felt the warmth under her palm, then narrowed his eyes. “You have Aldmer blood within you,” he declared.

Eirin's hand dropped to her side. “So I'm told.... My mother's grandmother was Breton.” She watched her hand lose its glow. “My Mer blood is thinned by a long line of Nord ancestors. That's why I'm not as powerful as some mages. Why I can't heal bad wounds completely....” She thought of Ralof and of the hole in Tille's leg, and her inability to use her other talent without losing consciousness.

Ulfric slowly rose from the table, approached the Healer, and pinned her to the stone wall with his imposing body. His steel armor pressed heavily against Eirin's breasts and his large, strong hands grasped her waist. His lips grazed her ear and his breath flowed down her neck. Ulfric's voice was deep, muted, and terrifying. “The Dragonborn must not falter, Healer. He must not fail. I will _not_ have him distracted by a pretty face.”

“Ulfric, I...” she interjected.

“ _Silence_ _!_ ” Ulfric commanded in a harsh whisper. “While at my camps, you will not fraternize with Fjornir. You will remain in the Healer's tent and tend to the wounded. You will not set foot outside of the camps until the battles are over and the army is set to move to a new location. Understood?”

Eirin stood silent, but nodded slowly.

“I need you to acknowledge....” Ulfric's tone was stern.

“Yes, Jarl Ulfric.” Eirin was shaking.

The Jarl remained in this position, his body pressed against hers and hot breath streaming in pulses down Eirin's neck and shoulder, until the two heard nearby voices approaching. Without looking at the woman he briskly walked away and out to the main hall for dinner.

Eirin smelled venison.

* * *

The next morning, the troops at Windhelm left for the military camp south of Whiterun. Horse-drawn carts were full of Stormcloak soldiers and supplies. Extra horses trailed behind the carts.

Galmar, Fjornir, Ralof, Iver, and a female troop commander named Brynja filled one cart. Eirin sat between Iver and Fjornir. The Dragonborn insisted the Healer ride with him. Galmar insisted Iver ride with the Healer. Eirin sat directly in front of Ralof, who avoided looking her way the entire time.

Ulfric, his steward, and a handful of Stormcloak reserves stayed behind in Windhelm.

Under normal healing circumstances, Ralof would have been unable to travel, let alone fight so soon after his injuries, but both he and Tille were up and walking already, and Galmar decided it best not to wait any longer. The Battle for Whiterun would happen the day after they arrived at the camp.

Fjornir was all business while traveling. For this, Eirin was grateful. Surely Ulfric told Galmar what her new orders were. What would Galmar do, or say, if Fjornir made advances toward her, and she merely responded? The night before leaving, Eirin said nothing to Fjornir about her encounter with Ulfric. Fjornir and Ulfric were on good terms, and Eirin did not want to tarnish that relationship. After dinner, Eirin deflected Fjornir's amorous approach with claims of exhaustion, but she let him hold her while they slept.

When they reached camp, Eirin decided to comply with Ulfric's orders, and avoided Fjornir. She met with the other healers, who unlike her were trained in combat and had no supernatural healing skills. She set up a corner of the large Healer's tent with her own supplies, and found a space for her bedroll. Inside the tent were drapes of linen that could be used to visually separate areas for the privacy of patients. For now, they were tucked against the sides of the tent.

A second large tent housed the male officers and troop commanders, a third for females. The remaining soldiers slept in small pup-tents which dotted the mountain foothills, spreading out across the landscape as more troops arrived.

Several soldiers arrived wounded and were lead straight to the Healer's tent. Nothing major, Eirin noticed. She had to redo their hastily-made stitches, but with a few light Healing touches they might be ready for battle tomorrow.

As the army slept, Eirin walked to the edge of camp to take in the scenery which danced in the campfires and torch light. The sky was clear, the stars were bright, and the moon was a sharp crescent. She heard footsteps approaching. She turned to see a smiling Fjornir. He bent down to kiss her, but she held him at a distance. Her eyes shifted toward the direction of the officer's tent, but it was out of sight. Unable to hold back, she gripped his long brown hair and tugged his face down to meet hers in a passionate kiss. The embrace morphed into a sensual hug, with Fjornir's strong hands slipping under Eirin's coat and caressing her back. Fjornir whispered into her ear, “I need you.”

Eirin felt her body melt at his words. “Where?” she whispered back.

Fjornir took her hand and they searched for a secluded spot. They turned left around some rocks, and found a flat boulder the height of Fjornir's thighs, partially surrounded by short trees. Fjornir sat Eirin down and kissed her forcefully. He removed her wolf-fur coat and laid it back onto the rock. Fjornir was no longer wearing his steel armor in which he had traveled, but had on his warm civilian clothes. Eirin deftly removed the belt and his heavy trousers fell to the ground. Fjornir untied the leather thongs at the top of Eirin's hide trousers, and she stood and the trousers fell. Both their trousers were caught by their boots. Fjornir practically ripped off his loincloth.

Fjornir lifted Eirin onto the wolf fur and ducked between the triangle formed by her legs and trousers. His lips found hers again and her legs wrapped around Fjornir's waist. Fjornir moved the crotch of her underwear aside and entered her. Eirin's moans were muted by Fjornir's mouth. Her arms wrapped around Fjornir's neck as he pounded into her. Desperation, lust, and the possibility of imminent death precluded the need for further excitement. Their kiss muffled their cries of pleasure and their passion climaxed quickly. Too quickly.

Unsatisfied, their tongues continued exploring one another's mouth. Still inside of her, Eirin felt Fjornir's excitement build again. Her feet pressed his backside forward, into her. Fjornir began thrusting again, slower this time, and moved his mouth to her neck, to that spot on the side that made her squeal uncontrollably in pleasure. Eirin planted her face onto Fjornir's chest and bit at the fabric of his tunic. _No sounds,_ she commanded herself. _Galmar must not know._

Fjornir's arms held her tight as he began thrusting harder, faster. His mouth sucked at the magic spot on her neck. Eirin's fingernails dug into the back of Fjornir's tunic. The pleasure was too much. She felt the ecstatic scream build within her. She bit the tunic harder, pinching flesh. Fjornir grunted. Terrified, Eirin raised a hand to his mouth. Fjornir sucked on her palm. Eirin's mouth opened in a silent cry. She bit again at the tunic and closed her eyes. Fjornir's thrusts were frantic now, deep, aided by the upward position of her legs. His grunts were muffled by her palm.

As their pleasure began to climax, Fjornir felt heat on his mouth. His eyes opened and he saw that Eirin's hand had begun to glow. No, not just glow. Her normal soft Healing light was sparkling. He grasped her hand with his own and buried his face in her neck. His frantic thrusts slowed into a deeper and forceful impalement of the woman. Their climatic screams of pleasure were unavoidable, but were muted by fabric and flesh.

Fjornir felt Eirin's entire body warm. Breathing hard, he looked down at her. She was luminous. Her Healing glow encased her entire body and tiny sparks traveled across her exposed skin. Her eyes were closed and mouth agape. A look of serene pleasure adorned her face. Fjornir was at once concerned and entranced. He decided to let her body relax on its own terms, and stood there, still within her, holding her close. He felt the contractions of her innermost parts slow, and cease. The warmth of her body faded. When Fjornir looked down at her, Eirin's expression was back to her normal, sweet, contented smile.

Fjornir thought it best to re-dress themselves, and helped her stand. They pulled up their trousers and fastened them. Fjornir lifted Eirin back onto the boulder and sat himself next to her. They then lay back onto the wolf fur and snuggled close within the tight space, Fjornir's body nesting into the back of hers. When his panting subsided, Fjornir said quietly, “You sparkled.”

“What?” Eirin asked.

“The second time, when we finished, you were glowing, and sparkling.”  
  
“Sparkling?”

Fjornir realized she was tired, drowsy. “Your whole body glowed, like your hand does when you Heal. And then it sparkled.”

“Wow....” When Eirin failed to say anything more, Fjornir propped himself up to look at her. She was asleep. Not unconscious, but snuggled onto the wolf fur in a sleeping position with her hands below her head.

Fjornir frowned. He worried that he just drained her energy and that she wouldn't be able to heal tomorrow. He'd had no way of knowing her body would react the way it did. He slid off the boulder from behind her, walked around to the front and took her and her fur coat in his arms. He walked as quietly as possible into the camp, weaving around pup-tents toward the Healer's tent. Thankfully, even the horses were fast asleep, and no one spotted them. Fjornir found an empty bedroll in the Healer's tent and lowered Eirin down onto it. She sleepily pulled her fur coat around her body. She appeared fine, just exhausted, so Fjornir retired to his own tent. Inside, everyone slept. Fjornir collapsed onto his bedroll and immediately fell asleep.

At that moment, Ralof opened his eyes. He sat up and turned to the other side of the tent. Fjornir had returned. Ralof had considered waking Galmar to report the Dragonborn's absence earlier, but who was he to raise such concern? Fjornir, being the Dragonborn, outranked everyone except Galmar and Ulfric. As long as Fjornir obeyed Galmar's orders and arrived on time for battle, he could do as he pleased. And then, the scent that entered the room when Fjornir returned awoke a deep, distant memory in the back of Ralof's mind.

Eirin was nearly sixteen, and Ralof nearly eighteen. They had run off to a flowery meadow outside of Helgen and had made love the entire morning and afternoon. This hadn't been their first time; that was months before. But that day in the meadow, Ralof painfully recalled, was for all intents and purposes their wedding day. In the seclusion of their secret meeting spot in a seldom-visited area of the Helgen defenses, the two had made their promises, and decided to consummate the vows the following day. They would have waited, but Ralof was going to leave soon to join the Stormcloaks, and Eirin's mother still said she was too young to marry.

As they'd lay naked in the sunshine surrounded by flowers, Eirin wove for them matching flower crowns and rings. The private ceremony would never be official or recognized by anyone but themselves, but they didn't care. They had belonged to one another.

The memory tore a hole through Ralof's chest. That scent, the scent Fjornir carried, was Eirin.  


	12. Companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirin and Ralof find companionship.

 Word soon came to base camp that the Stormcloaks were victorious, and the healers and injured were transported into the city by horse-drawn cart. The healers were instructed to bring the injured to the Temple of Kynareth where the Priestesses would help the healers. Eirin became nervous as more time passed without her seeing Fjornir. As the sun set on the broken town and the wounded were well on their way to healing, Eirin decided she should go search for Fjornir.

“Hello, Healer.” Eirin looked up from her chair next to a young, wounded soldier.

“Fjornir!” Eirin jumped up and into his arms. “You're alive....” She held him close as tears of relief and joy ran down her cheeks.

Fjornir chuckled. “Of course I am. I would never leave you....”

Eirin looked into his grey-green eyes as his hand brushed loose hair from her face. Her braid had become a mess with the day's work.

Fjornir's kiss was full and tender, a release from the horrors of battle mixed with the relief that they both still lived. Fjornir broke away and said, “Come on, I want you to meet some friends of mine.”

* * *

Galmar, the new Jarl and his steward were meeting in the Jarl's study at Dragonsreach. Ulfric had sent with them coffers and the order to distribute the wealth among the citizens of Whiterun to repair any damage from the raid, and as compensation for any families that may have lost loved ones in the battle.

The newest recruits were charged with cleaning the town of the dead and transporting the bodies outside the city walls in horse-drawn carts. After all the dead were removed in this way, the horses were unhitched. The carts served as makeshift mass funeral pyres.

Ralof was despondent. He sat at the banquet table staring into mug after mug of the local mead. Brynja, his friend and fellow troop commander, drank next to him. They had been through a lot together over the years, and though their fellow Stormcloaks celebrated and feasted in the same hall, the pair were content to sit apart from the crowd in their own little damaged world.

Around midnight, the majority of the Stormcloak army became too drunk to feast any longer and retired wherever they found space. Many crept away to celebrate in private in groups of two or three, sometimes more.

Ralof and Brynja decided on a slow, drawn-out drinking contest between the two of them. Brynja was winning. She always did. Their joke was that she was more of a man than Ralof was. In truth, Brynja had always considered herself more man than woman, despite lacking the physical elements of a man. Like most men, she preferred women. The soft, supple tavern maid type. Unfortunately, those types were hard to come by among an army of lithe and muscular women like herself. Brynja usually fell into the company of local girls wherever she was posted.

That is, until her current lover came under her command.

Despite being more manly than Brynja preferred, her lover was gorgeous, and like Brynja, enjoyed the body of a woman more than that of a man.

Brynja noticed that Ralof had decidedly lost their drinking contest, and she resorted to half-dragging his useless body to the upstairs guest quarters. The Dragonborn, who was allocated the guest quarters whenever he was in Whiterun, was nowhere to be seen at the feast, so Brynja figured the room was unoccupied. She was right.

The strong woman all but threw Ralof onto the bed. He landed with a groan and called Brynja what she thought sounded like a nasty word. “Sore loser,” she said, smirking. Brynja removed her uniform down to her underclothes and fell onto the opposite side of the large bed. They both needed to sleep off their mead.

Ralof fell asleep immediately. Brynja dozed off but was continually awakened by his drunken snoring. “Every time,” she said.

It was then that the guest room door opened. A slim figure stepped into the dim candle light and shut the door. The figure moved around to Brynja's side of the bed. Brynja sat up.

“Silda....” Her voice was a whisper.

The lithe blonde woman bent down and kissed Brynja's lips, then climbed onto the bed on top of Brynja and set her legs astride the woman's waist. “I've been looking for you, my love.” Silda began to remove her own uniform. Brynja helped her. Ralof snored, oblivious to the world.

Brynja all but ripped Silda's underclothes off. Her small, firm breasts fit easily into Brynja's mouth. _Too small_ , Brynja always joked with her. _I'm going to fatten you up when we win the war._

Silda lifted Brynja's undershirt off. Her lover's breasts were bigger, but Brynja always bound them tightly with linen. Silda didn't mind, however. Breasts or no breasts, Brynja drove Silda wild.

Tucked within Brynja's loincloth was always her polished stone phallus, complete with testicles. Brynja preferred using this on other women, sometimes men, if they asked, but also used it on herself occasionally. Her loincloth served as a strap to hold the phallus in place when she ravaged others.

Silda gleefully removed the object from Brynja's loincloth and began licking the flesh-warmed stone. Brynja grabbed Silda's legs and threw her on her back against the bed. Years of practice made binding the phallus against her own waist fast and easy. The object was about the size of an average man, but with larger than average testicles to support the bindings.

Brynja slid inside Silda easily. The woman was always ready for her. Brynja wasted no time and thrust eagerly into her lover. The loincloth was wrapped in such a way that while it held the phallus in place, it also rubbed against Brynja's most sensitive parts. When Silda cried out, Brynja clasped her hand over her mouth. Her climax came quickly, but Brynja wasn't finished with her lover. Brynja lowered herself between Silda's legs and used her well-trained fingers and tongue to bring Silda to yet another climax.

The women heard Ralof moan. “Blessed Divines, B', not again....”

Brynja laughed. “You were asleep. I was horny.”

Ralof was dizzy and covered his head with his hands. A foreign hand sliding up his inner thigh was not expected. “Ughh, alright, I'll go.” He stood to leave but a hand caught his wrist.

Silda looked up at him from the bed. Her dark blue eyes glowed violet in the candlelight. “Where do you think _you're_ going?”

Ralof nearly fell from drunkenness. Silda laughed and pulled him back to the bed. “You're too drunk to go anywhere, Ralof. Just stay here. Relax.”

The soldier mumbled something incoherently and sat on the edge of the bed. Silda reached around him and unfastened his uniform belts. She nibbled at an earlobe. Ralof halfheartedly swatted the annoyance away. Silda lifted his blue cloak from around his neck.

“Really, Silda?” asked Brynja. “He's too drunk to be any fun.”

“Just come over here and help, B'. He shouldn't sleep in these awful clothes anyway.” Brynja helped Silda lift the near-incapacitated man to his feet. They removed his uniform and undergarments, followed by his boots. Ralof gladly lay back down on the comfortable bed.

Silda climbed on top of the man's enormous muscular thighs. “He's almost as big as the Dragonborn,” she said while grasping Ralof's hardening shaft.

“I still can't believe you fucked him, Silda. He's so... inaccessible.” Brynja climbed behind Silda and grabbed each breast with her hands. She sat on one of Ralof's legs and ground herself against his shin. Ralof snored again.

“He's a bastard, is what he is.” Silda lowered herself in front of Brynja and began licking Ralof's torso. Brynja used her phallus to enter Silda from behind. Silda cried out as Brynja slowly slid in and out of her.

“Do you _really_ think that's why you were transferred?” Brynja asked.

“I know it. _Uhhhnn..._ it happened the next day....” Silda began to tease Ralof's own phallus with her tongue.

Brynja usually didn't take female lovers who also liked men, but Silda was an exception to most of her usual standards.

Silda felt Ralof awaken in her mouth. With Brynja behind her, she couldn't help but moan. The vibrations brought Ralof to full attention.

Ralof had no intention of resisting. He needed release, and knew it. Silda's mouth lowered down the entirety of his length. Brynja's movement behind her forced Silda's mouth to move up and down, rapidly increasing in speed. Within moments Silda lifted her head and let out a loud moan as Brynja drove her to climax again. Ralof's hand sleepily continued what Silda began.

Silda turned and kissed her lover. Brynja stood up to re-fashion the loosened binding around her waist.

Ralof found the energy to sit up. He grabbed Silda's skinny waist and turned her onto her stomach. Ralof lowered himself to Silda's backside and tasted her. His tongue teased her for a while until his head began to spin. Ralof sat up, braced himself against Silda's body, and entered her. He moved slowly, too tired for anything else.

Brynja crawled up behind her friend and wrapped her arms around his torso. “Just how long _has_ it been, Ralof darling?”

He groaned. “Don't,” he grunted, “ask questions you know answers to.” His movements remained slow and steady.

Brynja suckled at Ralof's neck. “Miss him, do you?” Her hand caressed Ralof's firm backside.

Ralof hadn't been with his current lover in months, and hadn't even thought of him in that way since the night he re-encountered Eirin. Silda began to thrust against Ralof's weakened body.

Brynja spit on her fingers and felt the cleft between Ralof's buttocks. She whispered in his ear. “How _much_ do you miss him?”

Brynja pushed Ralof's shoulders forward. His body hugged Silda's back as he moved slowly within her. With a slow push of Brynja's phallus inside of him, Ralof moaned loudly. Silda felt his manhood slowly gain its full potential inside of her. She reached back with one hand and pleasured herself. The three thrust together in near unison until Ralof was finally spent.

Ralof collapsed onto his back. His head throbbed. His heart hurt. He was exhausted and wanted to sleep.

Brynja finally allowed Silda to pleasure her.

Despite the cries, moans and thrusts of his friend beside him, Ralof passed out.

* * *

Fjornir introduced Eirin to his friends at Jorrvaskr who called themselves the Companions. Fjornir explained that some were away at the moment, but Eirin met their headman – _not_ leader, as was stressed – named Kodlak.

Eirin thought she'd never be able to tell the twins, Farkas and Vilkas apart.

The mead hall had been untouched by the battle. Fjornir was thankful for that. After feasting, drinking and getting to know Fjornir's friends, Eirin was exhausted. Fjornir lead her to the barracks where they snuggled into a small bed for the evening. They talked quietly in the otherwise empty room.

“Many died,” Eirin said.

“Unfortunately,” said Fjornir. His hold tightened around the woman.

“What happens now?”

“I have to return to Windhelm with Galmar. You could come too, I suppose. Unless they need you here to help with the wounded.”

Eirin yawned. “There are six healers including the Priestesses if I leave. I think they will manage. Besides,” she snuggled her body into Fjornir, “didn't Galmar want me to be your bodyguard?”

Fjornir laughed. “He did indeed.” He kissed her neck. “I suppose I'll never be rid of you, then.”

Eirin giggled. “Nope.”

Fjornir recalled their moment together before the battle. “Do you remember what I said to you last night?”

“Hmm,” she thought. “ _Sparkles_. I just remember you kept saying the word 'sparkles'.”

“Yes, when you and I finished the second time, your whole body lit up in that yellow glow, but it sparkled too, like, a softer version of when you made that lightning.”

“Really....” Eirin didn't recall any of that, or feeling any different at the time.

“It was spectacular,” Fjornir laughed.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, not at all.”

“Good.... I wonder what happened. No one has ever mentioned that to me before....” She recalled her times with Ralof and Vorstag.

Fjornir kissed the back of her neck. “Maybe it means something for _us_.”

Eirin squeezed his hand that held her side. “Like what?”

Fjornir kissed her shoulder. “Maybe it means that we love each other.” Fjornir heard the words come out of his mouth and immediately wanted to shove a pillow over his face. _Too soon, too soon, too soon,_ he repeated to himself.

Eirin frowned. She thought if that was the case, then it should have happened with Ralof.... “Maybe,” is all she said.

Fjornir's stomach churned. _Too damned soon,_ he thought.

Eirin turned onto her other side and faced Fjornir. She pushed back strands of long brown hair from his cheek and tucked them behind his ear. His hair grew longer by the day, and he had begun to tie it back with a leather thong. Still, shorter tresses broke free any chance they got. Eirin ran a hand along Fjornir's soft red-brown stubble. She wondered if he ever grew a full beard, or ever shaved his face clean.

Eirin leaned forward and kissed her lover briefly. She said the word aloud. “Love....” Fjornir's eyes sparkled when he smiled. “It causes the lightning....” Her hand cupped his cheek. “But only when you're in danger.”

“Or when I'm impaling you with my sword,” he grinned.

Eirin laughed. She leaned forward and kissed Fjornir. She didn't even noticed the stubble against her mouth and cheeks anymore.

A single tear rolled down her cheek when she realized the truth. She broke the kiss and looked into his eyes. “Yes, Fjornir. You're right.” She smiled. “I love you.”

Fjornir pressed his mouth against hers and lay her down onto the bed. His mouth left hers to kiss her cheek, and then her forehead. He looked into her soft brown eyes.

“And I, you.”


	13. Kings and their Queens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ralof and Ulfric desire the same future.

 Ralof embraced his lover. Though they had seen plenty of one another, this was the first moment they had to themselves in almost four months. Ralof ran his fingers through his lover's strawberry blonde hair. He felt the braids that curved down each side and kept his long hair away from his face. Ralof tried to feel as he once did for his lover of the last few years, but tonight their embrace felt disingenuous, and wrong. Ralof's body was stiff and unresponsive, and his lover noticed. The man's lips lifted away from Ralof's, which always felt so unexpectedly soft; it was impossible not to kiss them.

“What's the matter, Ralof?” the tall man asked in a gentle voice. Ralof sank to the edge of the bed, lowering his head into his hands. His lover moved behind him and massaged Ralof's strong shoulders which lay sunken in defeat. “Is it her?” he asked.

Ralof felt the searing pain in his chest again. _Eirin_. He had spoken of her to his lover long ago as they shared their past lives and secrets while embracing in the dark. Ralof had been a broken man then, and found himself unable to open his heart for any other woman after he was informed of Eirin's departure from Helgen. Even the women he found release with were nothing more than bodies to him, and more often than not he needed the assistance of mead, ale, or particularly of wine to allow him to have sex with women.

His lover was different. Ralof had never been with a man before then, but there was something about this person that made loving him easy, natural. Until now. When Ralof re-encountered Eirin, a part of his heart that lay dormant for nearly a decade reawakened. Eirin was meant to be his wife. To Ralof, she already was, and always will be. They belonged together. Ralof confessed these feelings to his lover after Korvanjund while he lay in bed, injured, at the palace in Windhelm. Ralof was never able to keep the truth from his lover. He was, after all, his King.

Ulfric Stormcloak had mixed feelings about the news. More than anything, he wanted Ralof to be happy. They both knew their relationship, which remained secret at the Jarl's discretion, would never last. As Jarl of Windhelm and potential High King of Skyrim, he needed to marry a woman, eventually, to produce an heir.

The day Ralof joined the Stormcloaks and took the oath in the Palace of the Kings, Ulfric watched him from his throne. Ralof was barely more than a boy then, younger than Ulfric, and skinnier than he was now; he had resembled the thin, toned bodies of the women Ulfric normally enjoyed. But the boy grew to a mountain of a man with time and intense training. Despite the hardness and muscles Ralof now boasted, Ulfric remained attracted to him. It was his lips. And, Ulfric knew, his heart.

When they had first met, Ralof paid no more attention to Ulfric than was expected for a Jarl. Two years later, something changed in the young man. Ulfric noticed his disheartenment, and approached him one evening after a feast was held in the main hall at the palace. They had talked for hours in the solitude of the Jarl's private quarters. When Ralof began to cry for his lost love, Ulfric felt for the young man. That night Ralof found comfort in the Jarl's arms, and continued to do so ever since.

The night Ralof told Ulfric about his re-encounter with his lost love, Ulfric realized that he must do everything he could to reunite the two. When the war was over, Ulfric would have to marry, and his relationship with Ralof would be finished. For this not to break Ulfric's heart, he needed for Ralof to find love again. Eirin, it seemed, was the only solution to this problem.

Tonight, Ulfric realized that his warnings to the Healer had no effect; she was still consorting with the Dragonborn. Ulfric asked Ralof if this was the case, and the broken man nodded in confirmation.

Ulfric embraced the sobbing man from behind. Ralof wore nothing but simple linen trousers; his uniform lay folded neatly on a dresser. Ulfric's sizable hands clenched Ralof's chest and his fingers dug into his flesh. Ulfric needed Ralof, but he also hoped he could comfort the man he loved.

Ralof's hand clasped Ulfric's wrist. He felt Ulfric's breath run down his neck and chest. Ralof tried to hold back further tears. Ulfric's strong body was not the body Ralof wanted; Ulfric's tender, but firm touch was not the touch he wanted. Ralof's eyes were closed tight, trying to stop the tears. _Eirin. Eirin. Eirin...._ Her name resounded in his mind. Her doe eyes flashed their loving light into his own. He despised her. He loathed her.

He would have no one else but her.

She was his.

Ralof's thoughts returned to the present moment at the feeling of Ulfric's lips upon his bare back. His mouth and tongue found old scars. His hand ran over the fresh wound at his thigh, still rough and easily felt under the thin linen trousers. Ralof felt his body begin to come back to life. He stood from the bed, and turned to face his lover. Standing in front of the Jarl, Ralof untied the thongs that held up his trousers. He kicked off his shoes.

Ulfric moved to the edge of the bed. He wore only an elaborate dressing robe which tied closed below the waist. Ulfric loosed the fabric straps and spread open the soft cloth, revealing his war-torn body to Ralof.

Naked now, Ralof sank to his knees in front of his Jarl. He kissed his lover, no longer frozen but alive with the passion for Ulfric that had grown over the years.

Ulfric grasped Ralof's head, entangling his fingers into his blonde hair, and urged his lover's head lower. Ralof's mouth kissed and his tongue teased the various scars that decorated Ulfric's chest and torso. When Ralof's mouth reached his swollen manhood, Ulfric collapsed back onto the bed. Ulfric was large, much larger than Ralof, and Ralof's mouth could only take in so much. He replaced mouth with hand, then moved his tongue to Ulfric's hidden regions. He heard Ulfric growl. Ralof raised to his knees again, and readied Ulfric to receive him. Slowly, Ralof slid inside his lover. Ulfric's growling increased in intensity. Ralof wrapped both hands around Ulfric's throbbing shaft. His hands and hips moved slowly. Agonizingly slow. Ralof knew Ulfric both loved and hated this exquisite torture.

The wait had been too long. Ulfric took no other lovers in Ralof's absence—there had been no occasion to—and self-release was only moderately satisfying. Ralof's strong hands brought Ulfric to a climax too quickly.

Ulfric growled loudly after his release. He lurched up and grabbed Ralof's forearms, then pulled him roughly onto the bed and shoved him onto his hands and knees. Ulfric's hands cupped, clenched and massaged Ralof's backside. A swift downward motion of Ulfric's hand onto Ralof's hard, round left cheek resulted into a loud smacking sound. Ralof moaned at the unexpected, and yet very expected pain followed by the pleasure of Ulfric massaging the stinging flesh. Ulfric's other hand came down on Ralof's right cheek. Ulfric pressed his body against Ralof's. His chest molded to Ralof's broad back, his hands grasped Ralof's thick upper arms, and his teeth took small nips of muscular flesh up and down Ralof's back. Ralof felt Ulfric's excitement renew. Ulfric reached down and took Ralof's own shaft in hand. He stroked slowly, firmly, pushing the foreskin back and forth over the sensitive tip. With his other hand, Ulfric slipped two wet fingers into Ralof. He bit Ralof's left cheek, then licked the reddened imprint left by his teeth. Ulfric added a third finger, and later a forth. The foreplay was necessary for Ralof to accept Ulfric's girth.

When Ulfric removed himself from Ralof, he kissed his backside. Ulfric slid down the mattress and opened the chest that sat at the foot of the bed. He retrieved a small, blue bottle with a cork stopper. Ralof looked back over his shoulder.

“Is that the snowberry leaf oil?” he asked.

Ulfric grunted in confirmation. He uncorked the small bottle. The contents smelled of springtime. The essential oil not only aided in their love-making, but soothed the skin and lessened the strain of stretching flesh. Ulfric wet his own palm with the oil and allowed some to drip down the cleft in Ralof's backside. Ulfric applied the oil to his aching shaft, and used two fingers to apply it within Ralof. The oil was viscous and lasted a long time. It also allowed for prolonged sexual activity because of its desensitizing qualities.

Ralof felt Ulfric begin to enter him. His hands clenched the bed linens. Deep breaths. Ulfric had never hurt him before, but the initial entry was always difficult to bear. The oil was a blessed gift from the Divines. Ulfric slid forward, gently, then reached down again and found Ralof's own throbbing shaft. Ralof's moans became deeper, more guttural. He buried his face in a pillow.

The lovers retained this slow movement for over an hour. If Ulfric felt Ralof was about to climax, he removed his hand, and left him aching for release. Ulfric began to move in longer thrusts, deeper with every other movement. Faster and faster, Ulfric watched himself disappear into Ralof. His lover's moans became desperate.

Ralof raised his head from the pillow and finally begged in a voice so deep and low it was barely audible, “Please....”

Ulfric growled. His thrusts became more intense. He was buried to the hilt within his lover now. His hands raised and lowered in a melody of flesh-on-flesh impacts. Ralof's backside and thighs stung. He was unable to control the sounds that came from his mouth. Cries of pain, deepening moans of pleasure. His body trembled in front of Ulfric, hands nearly ripped the bed linens apart.

Just as Ulfric felt himself near release, he grunted to his lover, “Now.”

Relief swept over Ralof's body. He moved his own hand from the wrinkled bed linen to his aching manhood, so swollen the sensation of his palm was nearly painful. Ulfric thrust violently from behind and Ralof matched his movement. When Ralof heard Ulfric nearly scream in his release, Ralof let himself go. The climax stopped all thought and blackened his mind. Nothing existed except for his own pleasure and that of the man behind him. Their bodies convulsed together.

Moments later, the lovers fell asleep in one another's arms.

–

Fjornir sat at the dining table next to Eirin. The rest of their troop, Iver and Erich, dined with them. Galmar sat near Jorleif, the steward. Ulfric and Ralof were nowhere to be found.

The journey back to Windhelm was made less awkward by Ralof and Galmar riding horseback and the rest of the crew riding in a horse-drawn cart. Eirin had noticed how Ralof continued to ignore her, but her increasing feelings for Fjornir made her care less.

The majority of the Stormcloak army remained in Whiterun to form a new city guard, and to aid the new Jarl in rebuilding damaged structures. They awaited word from Windhelm on their next move.

Fjornir knew that their next moves would involve reclaiming forts that were seized by Imperials. He was not sure how soon Ulfric would initiate this second stage.

When Fjornir and Eirin retired to Eirin's bedroom - Fjornir had moved his belongings into hers – their discussion turned to Eirin's unexpected physical response to their love-making that night near the military camp.

“I've been thinking about it,” Fjornir said. “And I think I may know someone who might be able to give you some answers.”

Eirin frowned and lowered her eyes. “My mother could have....” Eirin removed her wolf-fur coat and stripped down to her undergarments. She had mentioned to Fjornir how her mother died years ago, long before Helgen. She never forgave herself for being in Markarth and never getting to say goodbye to her, never would forgive Vorstag for holding her hostage.

Fjornir walked up to Eirin and kissed her shoulder. He wrapped his arms around the woman and held her there, standing in front of the dresser. “Come with me to Winterhold,” he finally said. “I have to travel north of there, but on the way, we can go to the Mage's College.”

“The Mage's College...,” Eirin repeated. No one in her family had ever traveled there, that she was aware. She realized Fjornir was right, that perhaps the large population of elves at the College may be able to help her harness this newfound second ability, and understand the reaction she had that night with Fjornir. “Yes, alright,” she said. “I'll go with you.”

Eirin turned to see Fjornir's face light up in a tooth-filled smile. He kissed the woman's forehead. “We'll leave first thing tomorrow, before dawn,” Fjornir said excitedly. “Galmar doesn't need to know, and we don't need Iver. I don't expect much danger where I need to go, and Iver would just be bored sick in Winterhold.” Eirin laughed. He asked if she'd ever been there, and Eirin shook her head. “The town itself is an empty, dreary place, but the College is quite nice. The Arch-Mage and myself are on good terms. We'll be welcomed there.” Fjornir began to remove his own armor, and Eirin helped him. The steel breastplate and shoulder pauldrons were weighty, but manageable. Still, Eirin wondered how the man breathed let alone fought while wearing them. Wearing only his undergarments, Fjornir led Eirin to the bed. Eirin sank into the comfortable bed and under the covers, already dreaming of sleep. While Eirin lay on her back, Fjornir curled up to her side and laid his head on her torso. Eirin untied the leather thong in his hair and ran her fingers through the long, straight brown tresses. The sensation ripped Eirin from the present and into the past.

Eirin lay naked in a sunny meadow amongst wildflowers. Ralof's sleepy head lay on her bare stomach. The two were exhausted from a day of love-making. Eirin looked down at her new “husband”, his content, sweet smile, and decided to braid his hair. She slowly sat up. Ralof moved his head lower, onto her lap. Eirin examined Ralof's shoulder-length blonde hair. She separated a large tress from his left temple and began the braid. Over, under, again and again. She took the leather thong from her own braid and tied it around Ralof's. When her movement ceased, Ralof reached with his hand to feel his new decoration. He smiled. A lover's braid, made by one's lovers' hands. He lifted himself to kiss her lips. Her perfect, pink lips.

“Fjornir?...,” Eirin said in a hushed voice.

“Yes, _Dyra_?” Eirin enjoyed his new nickname for her. It meant 'deer'. _Like your eyes,_ he had said to her. _Beautiful doe eyes._ The word brought out the faint brogue in his accent.

“I need to tell you something,” she said. “About me. And Ralof.” Her voice was a whisper.

Fjornir sat up. Her words were not expected, not at this moment, anyway. Eirin saw the color fade from his normally tawny face.

She swallowed hard, and sat up as well. “I told you already, how he and I were long-time friends,” she began. Fjornir nodded. “I think, now... it's only fair you know the whole story.” She looked Fjornir in the eyes. He said nothing, but his pleading gaze urged her on.

Eirin told Fjornir everything. About their secret childhood betrothal, the necklace and bone charm she wore, their secret but unofficial wedding ceremony in the meadow, her broken heart when he left to join the Rebellion, her devastation that grew by the day when she heard nothing from him that first year, the news that he was alive, her urgent need to find him after leaving Markarth, her shock to see him again, and her confrontation with him that first night back in Windhelm.

“I heard,” Fjornir said. Eirin's eyes widened. “Your talking with him, here, that first night. I didn't mean to, and I didn't hear everything,” Fjornir recalled. “I stood back, in the corridor. Your voices carried. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to listen.” Fjornir hung his head low. “I was just worried for you. All I heard was Ralof say something about 'happily ever after', and heard you crying at him about memories. I went back to bed after you said that you regretted leaving him.”

Eirin began to cry, partially from embarrassment, but mostly from hearing in her mind Ralof's screaming last words to her that night. She broke his heart. Of course she did. The day she heard that he was alive and well, from her father who had still traveled between Helgen and Markarth, her own heart shattered. Half a country away, she had felt Ralof's pain.

Fjornir held Eirin to him. She began to sob heavily. “We can't change our past, Eirin,” he said as he ran his hands up and down her shaking back.

Through her sobs, Eirin asked, “Why did you say nothing?”

Fjornir held her tighter. “It was not my business.” In truth, the discovery pained him. Eirin obviously had loved – possibly still loved – his friend and comrade. Fjornir thought about her necklace with the bone bead. _She still loves him_ , he finally admitted to himself. Fjornir felt the tears flow from his own eyes. His heart hurt for the woman in his arms, and was ripped in half with the realization that, one day, Eirin might leave him for her first love.  


	14. That Magic Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirin receives some surprising news.

 “Fjornir!” An aged, smiling Dunmer approached Fjornir and Eirin in the foyer of the College of Winterhold. Other than his attire, which Eirin found quite lovely, she was most impressed by the mage's beard. The Dunmer and Fjornir clasped forearms in greeting. “I was told you requested an audience with me. What can I do for you, friend?”

“Not for myself, Savos, for my--” Fjornir stopped his speech. What was Eirin to him, exactly? “--companion, Eirin. She has some questions that I thought you might be able to help her with.”

The Dunmer smiled at Eirin. His eyes were blood red, and skin the same blue as his cloak. This Savos was not the first Dunmer Eirin had met, but she never got used to the sight of those red eyes. “Eirin, hmm,” he extended his hand. Eirin placed her hand in his. Savos lowered himself in a simple bow, complete with a light kiss of the top of her hand. Savos rose, slowly, and, still holding the woman's hand, gazed into her eyes. The gaze began to make Eirin feel uncomfortable. She gulped.

“You have Aldmer in you,” the mage declared.

Eirin's jaw dropped. _How did he know?_ “Y-yes, I do, a little, anyway, on my mother's side. From my Breton ancestors.” She felt Fjornir squeeze her other hand.

The mage nodded and released his grasp on Eirin's hand. “What is it I can do for you?”

The Healer tried to find her words. “I'm, em, a Healer. Have been, my entire life. My mother, her mother... all the way back. But...” How to explain?

“But?” Savos's eyebrow raised.

“Recently,” Eirin continued, “I found that I can... create lightning.”

“Mm-hmm...,” Savos nodded.

Fjornir nudged Eirin gently with his elbow. She looked up at him, and he gave a single nod.

“Oh, em, also...,” Eirin turned back to Savos, “something, odd, happened. It's hard to explain....” Eirin dropped her gaze to her feet. How do you tell a complete stranger that she lit up like a sparkling candle after having an orgasm?

Savos looked to Fjornir, and then back at Eirin. “Fjornir, why don't you give us a moment.” Fjornir nodded, turned to Eirin, who nodded in consent, and he gave her a quick kiss on the lips.

Savos led Eirin to a room off to the side, out of ear-shot, and sat her down in a chair, facing him. “You said you are a Healer,” Savos began, gesturing with his hand for her to continue talking.

“Yes,” she said, then held up her hand and emitted a soft yellow glow.

“Mmh,” Savos nodded. “No spell. Manipulation. You are a natural Healer.”

Eirin nodded.

“How quickly do you tire from it, Healing?” the mage asked.

“Not quickly. I would have to heal many small wounds, or several fatal ones.” The glow faded. “But I can't heal bad wounds fully. I can stave off infection, and help speed the healing process.”  
  
Savos nodded again. “You are mostly human. Limitations are expected. You mentioned recently you made lightning? What do you mean?”

Eirin explained the cave incident, then practicing on a tree, nearly fainting the first time and losing consciousness for a few moments the second.

“And both times, Fjornir was with you, in danger?”

“The first time, yes, the second time I only _thought_ Fjornir was in danger. And then...,” her voice trailed off.

“Yes?” Savos urged her on.

Eirin cleared her throat and felt her cheeks flushing with blood. “When I was... I was...” Were her ears on fire?

“Go on, child.” The Dunmer's eyes, despite being horrifyingly red, were soft and kind.

“I was... making love, and when I finished, I didn't know, but I was told after.... I glowed. Not just my hands, but my entire body. And then sparks, little sparks formed all over my body. Only, they didn't hurt me or... my lover. No pain at all.” Her eyes were focused on her fidgeting hands.

Savos considered her words. His fingers ran along the length of his impressive beard. “And this never happened before,” Savos assumed.

Eirin shook her head. “Which, I found odd.... Because... I've been with several men, and each of them, many times....”

“What was different about this particular time?” Savos asked.

Eirin thought a moment. _Whiterun._ “There was a chance, that the following day the man would have died.”

“And that man was Fjornir?” Eirin looked up at Savos. She saw no judgment in his eyes. Her embarrassment abated, and she nodded.

Savos sat in silence again, stroking his beard. “You know, I would guess, about the other natural manipulators.”

Eirin nodded. “Air, breeze, gusts. Water, rain, ice. Fire...”

“Campfires and fireballs,” Savos finished the thought.

“I thought that, maybe, the lightning was in some way the stronger, deadlier version of the Healing. But I couldn't understand why I never, and none of my family members ever experienced it before.”

Savos nodded. “It is. Related, that is.”  
  
“It is?” Eirin's excitement grew.

“Oh yes. Most do not realize... The mortal body has a sort of 'lightning' of its own. Healing manipulation stimulates this energy and encourages the body to heal itself. Manipulation does not _add_ energy from the Healer, as one might expect. Despite the lack of energy _transfer,_ the Healer still becomes fatigued, as with any form of physical exertion. Manipulation is different from healing, or restoration _magic_ , which uses energies _around_ the body, not _within_ it, to heal wounds. Manipulation is more efficient in this way, with no unwanted side effects that magic could bring. Spells and incantations can always go wrong. Your skill cannot. It can only increase in intensity.”

“Intensity? The lightning is intense Healing? But I _killed_ a woman!” Eirin raised her voice.

The Dunmer nodded, slowly. “Breathe into the face of someone, they feel your breath. Create a gust of wind aimed at them, they fall to their feet. A small amount of energy stimulated in the body can heal. A large amount shocks the body, disrupting natural processes. The person's heart stops.”

Eirin stared at the mage for a moment. “Like lightning from the sky, striking a man.”

Savos nodded. “What do you think about when Healing?” he asked.

“That the person gets better,” she answered plainly.

“What do you think about when you create the lightning?” Savos asked a second question.

Eirin had already discussed this with Fjornir. She knew exactly what she thought. “I didn't want Fjornir to die.”

Savos smiled. “Love,” he said. His elbows were leaning on the chair arms and his blue fingers formed a tent in front of his face.

Eirin stared at the man. “That's what I thought, too....”

“Love, for healing wounds. Love, for protecting.”

“But what about... the third thing?” Eirin asked. “I've been in love before...” Eirin's thoughts turned to Ralof.

“That, my child, remains a mystery to me,” Savos said quietly. Eirin frowned at him, clearly disappointed. “However....”

Eirin's eyes widened. “Yes?”

Savos smiled again. “Are you aware of the Mer Will?”

“Will? What? No, I... No.” Eirin was not even sure what the mage meant by the question.

“Have you ever conceived a child?” he asked.

Eirin frowned. “Once. A boy. He died young.” _He would have been_ _eight_ _years old,_ she thought while forcing herself not to cry.

The Dunmer nodded. “No other conceptions?” Eirin shook her head. “Who was the father?”

“My lover, at the time.”

“And you truly loved him?”

“At that time, yes.” Vorstag had literally swept her off her teenage feet.

“And you wanted a child?”

Eirin nodded.

“What about other lovers? Never wanted to bear them children?”

Eirin wanted to marry Ralof, but.... _No_ , she thought. _We were too young for children_. “I loved him,” she said, “but we weren't ready for children of our own.”

Savos nodded, his interrogation finished for the moment.

Eirin grew nervous with his silence. His tented fingers separated and rejoined fingertips in waves.

“So,” Eirin finally spoke, “What does the lightning have to do with conceiving children?”

Savos sat up straighter in his chair.

“The Mer, all Mer, have the ability to prevent or allow the conception of a child.”

Eirin's eyes widened. “Really? How? I just used herbs before, when I was younger. My mother taught me.”

Savos shook his head. “Those herbs are useless for the Mer. And, I am guessing, for you, and possibly all women in your maternal line.”

“So, you're saying, because I wanted a child, when I was in love, I allowed myself to conceive?”

Savos nodded.

“But what does that have to do with that, thing, that happened?”

“My dear Healer,” Savos's smile broadened, “you and Fjornir are in love. Any fool can see that within moments of watching the two of you. But sometimes, since people cannot see themselves, they do not realize what others can plainly see.”

Eirin's brow furrowed. The mage was right. “I didn't, until...,” she recalled the night after the battle at Whiterun. “I love him. But I didn't admit it to myself until after that night, the night I glowed.”

“Therefore, the night you glowed, you perhaps did not want a child yet.”

Eirin tried to wrap her head around the mage's concept. “I... I suppose not....”

“But, your secondary skill, the lightning, the more intense version of your Healing, was discovered only when trying to protect Fjornir.”

Eirin nodded.

“Because, as you have realized, you love him.”

Eirin nodded.

“Therefore, the night you glowed, you were in love with Fjornir, whether you realized it or not.”

Eirin nodded, slowly.

“Fjornir, it would seem, has an unintended, subconscious effect on your Will.”

Eirin fell off the mage's thought wave. Savos saw the confusion on her face.

The mage leaned forward and took one of Eirin's hands in both of his. "My dear Healer, I believe that you may be with child."


	15. Disobedience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One relationship ends, while others are tested.

Eirin's mind went blank and her jaw became slack. Savos grinned at her surprise. He gently placed Eirin's hand onto her lap, then stood.

“Stay here, reflect. I will tell Fjornir to come see you now. I am going to find someone who may be able to answer this final mystery.” The Dunmer smiled and left.

The Healer remained wide-eyed, jaw open. She heard Fjornir's heavy footsteps. _Fjornir. Fjornir. Coming now. Baby._ Eirin's mind went from vacant to overloaded. _But it's too soon to know!_

“Eirin!” Fjornir walked briskly to where she sat frozen. “So? Did Savos help?” Fjornir was crouched in front of her. Eirin stared down into his eyes. They appeared more green now than before. Her mouth remained agape, starting to form a word, any word, but failing. Fjornir smiled, and laughing, said “Come on, tell me!”

Eirin heard footsteps. Two sets. Savos was returning. _Thank the_ _Divines_ _._

Savos had retrieved an even older Dunmer. He had green skin and white hair. “Eirin, Fjornir, may I introduce Drevis Neloren, Master of Illusion.” The green Dunmer bowed slightly, but remained silent. “Eirin,” Savos turned to her, “if you would please allow Drevis to answer this question....”

“Savos, it's only been a few days! Surely it's too soon...” Eirin said to the mage.

Fjornir looked at Eirin and then at Savos. _What is going on?_ He grabbed the chair that sat across from Eirin and moved it to her side. He reached for her right hand and held it tight.

The Arch-Mage stepped back and nodded to Drevis who then approached Eirin. She stared up at the green Dunmer, and nodded her consent. Drevis held out his hand toward Eirin's abdomen, closed his eyes, and spoke words foreign to Eirin. “ _M_ _e'_ _o_ _hin_.”

A soft blue-purple light floated from his palm to her abdomen. Fjornir's eyes widened with a sudden fear for Eirin's safety, but the light did not appear to affect her, and Savos appeared unconcerned. When the light dissipated, Drevis placed his hand on Eirin's stomach.

Eirin felt the nerves within her begin to build. _What if she were with child? She would have to leave the Stormcloaks. Stay somewhere, in a house, and wait to give birth. Fjornir. A child with Fjornir._ Her thoughts took a sudden turn to Ralof and the names that they had half-jokingly chosen for their future children. She suddenly felt the need to vomit, but swallowed down whatever food was coming up.

As Eirin concentrated on not losing her lunch, Drevis jerked back his hand and gasped at the unexpected electric shock he received.

–

“Where is he?!” Ulfric yelled. The Stormcloak troops at Windhelm were readying for the journey to The Pale, but Fjornir was nowhere to be found.

“We've looked everywhere, my Jarl,” Jorleif, Ulfric's steward said.

“His room?” Ulfric asked Jorleif.

“Yes, my Jarl.”

“Taverns, markets?”

“Yes, my Jarl.”

“The girl's room?” Ulfric's nostrils flared in his rage.

Jorleif stared at Ulfric, but he understood which girl he meant. “Yes, my Jarl. Some of his belongings were in the Healer's room and no longer in his own. But neither he or the girl are in Windhelm at this moment.”

Ulfric swatted at a silver bowl that antagonized him with its sense of superiority. Green apples flew across the hall. He stomped to his throne and sat on the steps in front of it. His head fell into his hands and his fingers pulled at his hair.

“Ulfric...,” Galmar approached. “We can take the fort without him.”

“That's besides the point!” Ulfric shouted. “She _deliberately_ disobeyed my orders.”  
  
“Who, Ulfric?” Ralof approached from the map room. The look in his eyes told Ulfric that his lover already knew of whom he spoke. “What did you order her to do?”

Ulfric frowned. Ralof was not supposed to know. He turned to Galmar and Jorleif. “Leave us.”

The two men decided to go down to the kitchen for a snack.

Ralof stood in front of Ulfric. “What did you do? Where is she?”

Ulfric looked up at the man he loved, then back down at his own feet. “I have failed you, Ralof. Your worries of the Dragonborn's pull on the Healer were sound. I told her to cease contact with Fjornir, but obviously that did not work. They've left.”

“Left? Didn't he tell Galmar first? Fjornir knew we were due to leave soon.”

Ulfric slowly shook his head.

Ralof spun on his heals and headed toward the palace doors.

“Where are you going?” Ulfric shouted after him.

“Where do you _think?!_ ” Ralof responded.

“But we don't know where they are!” Ulfric began walking after Ralof. “Ralof, stop!” He ran up to the man and grabbed his shoulder.

The swinging, clenched fist that landed on Ulfric's jaw took both men by surprise.

–

Fjornir saw the sparks encase the green Dunmer's hand just before he removed it from Eirin's abdomen. Eirin felt the now-familiar tingle where the sorcerer had touched her.

The Dunmer's expression was more from shock than pain. Still, Eirin was concerned. “I... Drevis, I'm sorry, are you alright?”

The sorcerer massaged his hand, regained his calm expression, and nodded.

“Eirin, what was that? Are you hurt?” Fjornir was nervous for Eirin.

“No, Fjornir, I'm fine.” She smiled and caressed his worried face with her hand.

Drevis looked at Savos, nodded, and left.

–

Ralof stared wide-eyed at his lover. His Jarl. His King. Ulfric could have Ralof executed for raising a hand to him.

The unexpected force had sent Ulfric to the floor. Ulfric's hand held the reddened, bruising jaw. Both men stared at each other, unsure of what to do or say next.

“Ulfric, I....” Ralof approached the fallen man. He held out his hand.

Slowly, Ulfric reached out and accepted Ralof's silent apology. The two men stood face-to-face.

Ralof raised his hand to Ulfric's jaw. He couldn't be sure if the look in Ulfric's eyes was pain, betrayal, or anger.

At this moment, both men realized that their relationship was finished. Ralof, Ulfric realized, would stop at nothing to bring Eirin back into his life. Ralof realized that Ulfric was trying to do the same, as a final, selfless, loving gesture.

Ulfric stepped closer to Ralof. Their foreheads came together as their hands held each other's face. Ulfric's grip on Ralof's cloak nearly ripped the fabric. Ralof's fist came down on the Jarl's bearskin coat before he grasped the back of his lover's head, completing the entwined embrace. They breathed in one another for a long time.

Ralof began to tremble. He lifted his head and looked at his lover. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Ulfric's. With this tender, final goodbye, Ralof left the palace.

Galmar had seen the entire exchange from the kitchen entrance. He would say nothing. He never had.

–

“A child...” Fjornir said. His voice was soft, tentative.

His hand still held Eirin's. His grip became painfully tight.

Eirin looked at Fjornir who gazed into nothingness.

Savos pulled a third chair up to the pair and sat in front of them.

“Fjornir,” he said. The sound of his name brought the man back to the present. “I believe the situation you two are in is unique, because of who you are.”

“Who I am....” Fjornir said, his voice still barely more than a whisper.

Savos nodded. “You are human, yet you are not. Eirin is human, and yet, not. Each of you brings a different set of extra-human qualities. The circumstances are unprecedented. The instinctive energy manipulation Eirin was born with is already at work, protecting the child.”

“Drevis's hand?” Eirin asked.

Savos nodded again.

Eirin bit her lip. She looked over at Fjornir again. He looked back at her. Worry creased his forehead. He turned to Savos. “What does this mean, for Eirin? Can she still heal? Be near battles? What if--”

Savos held up his hand at Fjornir, quieting him. “Eirin can do everything she always could. The child will be protected from most danger. Only....” Savos looked away, searching for the correct words.

“What?” Fjornir asked.

Savos thought a moment more, then continued. “The child will be protected from any magic or energy manipulation,” he said to Fjornir. “Eirin,” he turned to the Healer. “Are you able to heal yourself?” She nodded. “Good. However, you should know that the child may not accept your Healing touch. That is what happened to Drevis. The child deflected the harmless Clairvoyance spell. Under normal circumstances, the abdomen of a woman with child would have glowed with the same light you saw. You did not, but rather produced the defensive sparks. If nothing had happened at all, we would not be having this conversation.”

Eirin blinked. Fjornir's grip on her hand relaxed, and switched from clenching to caressing.

“Eirin, try to Heal your child,” Savos ordered.

Her eyebrow raised, but Savos was right. She should try now, to know for sure. Her hand rest on her lower abdomen. She visualized the life within her receiving her Healing touch. Her hand glowed yellow and she felt her own warmth.

Nothing else happened. Eirin waited for a spark, but felt only warmth within her. Her eyes shot over to Savos. A smile crossed her face.

Savos smiled, “Good. The child may already know the difference between your touch and the touch of others.” The Dunmer stood.

Fjornir stood as well, still holding Eirin's right hand. “Thank you, my friend,” Fjornir said. The two men grasped forearms again.

The Dunmer held Eirin's shoulder for a moment, smiled, and left.

Fjornir sat back down, and turned to Eirin.

Eirin was staring at the wall, clenching the bone bead at her neck.

Fjornir's heart sank. He now knew what that motion meant. Eirin was thinking of Ralof.


	16. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirin forces herself to decide between her past and her present.

 “Savos, wait!” Eirin ran from the room after the mage. He turned to the Healer. “I forgot to ask. The lightning.... Will I ever be able to use it without losing consciousness?”

The Arch-Mage smiled, and said, “Practice.” He turned and disappeared down the corridor.

Fjornir walked up to Eirin and gave her an 'I told you so' look. He reclaimed her hand with his. Eirin thought his smile looked forced.

The pair walked in silence from the College back to the tiny Winterhold village. The wind outside had turned violent. Fjornir clung to Eirin, worried she would be blown from the high-arching walkway between the village and the College. Eirin was thankful that she wore a heavy cloak over her hide clothing and wolf-fur coat. The hood of the cloak blocked the worst of the wind from her face, but she was still shivering. She wondered how Fjornir was not a frozen block of ice, wearing only his steel armor that left exposed his elbows and knees.

They arrived at the inn just as the snow began to fall. “It's so cold. Will the horses be alright?” Eirin asked Fjornir.

He nodded. “I put blankets over them. Don't worry, they're hardy animals.” He placed his hand at the small of Eirin's back, urging her into the inn.

The name of the inn, The Frozen Hearth, was misleading. The burst of heat that immediately thawed Eirin's frozen face was startling. Eirin lifted the hood of her cloak. Fjornir walked up to the innkeeper and handed him some coin. He turned to Eirin. “Come on,” he said before walking to the rented room.

Eirin frowned at the one small bed. She also didn't like that none of the rooms had doors. _What kind of inn doesn't provide bedroom doors?_ She felt a sudden sense of overexposure.

“Why couldn't we have stayed at the College?” Eirin asked.

Fjornir removed his weapons and steel armor and placed them in a corner. “Members-only,” was all he said. He stood there, facing Eirin, in his hide underclothes, the layer of clothing he wore under his armor but above his linen undergarments. After a moment, he walked up to Eirin and removed her cloak for her. He folded it and placed it on a dresser. He untied the clasp of her wolf-fur coat, and placed it on her cloak.

Eirin's arms folded low across her abdomen. Her mind was filled with an overabundance of thoughts. Fjornir walked back to her and gently rubbed heat back into her cold arms. Eirin continued to stare at nothing in particular. Forming words was beyond her abilities at the moment. Fjornir needed to speak her name several times to get her attention.

“Eirin!” he said a third time. Not shouting, but speaking firmly. She looked up at Fjornir.

“Yes? Sorry, I... I've been....” She continued to hug herself with her arms.

Fjornir sighed, and spoke softly. “I know. It's a lot to process....” His strong hands wrapped around her upper arms.

His words were loaded.

They stood there, Eirin lost in her own thoughts, Fjornir wondering if it was him or Ralof she was thinking about.

Fjornir spoke again. “At least you have your answers. Savos said you just need to practice with the lightning. Hopefully eventually you can control it as easily as your Healing.” His hands reached for Eirin's, which remained clutched onto her elbows. His fingers covered hers in an attempt to take her hands in his, but Eirin was as stiff as stone. Fjornir frowned. His voice became lower, quiet. He didn't want the other patrons and the innkeeper to hear their business. “What are you thinking about?”

 _Avra and Rikr. My choices. Gerda and Vinjar. Ralof's choices._ The movement of her hand to the bone bead had become reflex over the last 15 years. The engraved rune had become worn with her frequent touch.

“Eirin.” Fjornir's hand grasped the wrist of the hand that clutched her necklace. She stared into nothing. “Eirin!” Fjornir shouted that time. She blinked and looked at the man in front of her who was not Ralof.

“What?” she asked in a rough whisper, still grasping the necklace.

“ _What?_ ” Fjornir repeated. He began to feel anger, frustration and pain vibrate throughout his body. His left hand reached up for the leather thong at her neck. His grip on the necklace caused the leather to dig into the back of Eirin's neck. Fjornir gritted his teeth. “This!” He shouted, tugging at the necklace. “ _This_ is what!” He wanted nothing more than to rip the leather from around her neck. He could have, easily. The process would have likely hurt Eirin, though. He maintained enough sense to realize this. His grip weakened but he kept hold of the leather thong.

Eirin's eyes were wide with fear and confusion. Her hand left the bead and landed slowly, gently on Fjornir's left forearm. Her other hand did the same. The movement was instinctive, protective. She was readying herself for Fjornir to strangle her.

She had been in this position before.

But unlike Vorstag, whose eyes would burn with rage at a time like this, Fjornir's eyes filled with tears.

“ _This..._ ,” Fjornir's voice softened. His eyes were fixed on Eirin's as his hand tugged gently on the necklace. He continued, “...is breaking my heart.” His voice cracked with the last word.

“Everything alright over here?” The innkeeper walked over while drying a mug. The pair looked at the intruder. Both of them nodded. The innkeeper made a _hmmph_ sound and walked away.

Eirin and Fjornir turned back to one another. Tears freely streamed down Fjornir's cheeks now. The sight devastated Eirin. She moved a hand from Fjornir's forearm to his cheek, and wiped away the tears with her thumb. But the tears did not stop.

Eirin knew she had to make a decision. She recalled Ralof's attitude to her since seeing him again. She recalled how not once in almost ten years did Ralof write to her or come visit her. She had broken his heart, but if Ralof had truly wanted her back, wouldn't he have fought for her? Tried to convince her to leave Vorstag? _Rescue_ her from a horrifying and abusive marriage? Eirin realized that she, too, never wrote to Ralof, partly because she feared Vorstag receiving the letter instead, and partly because, as her father had told her, Ralof had seen him many times over the years, and not once said anything to him about Eirin or asked about her.

As far as Eirin knew, once she had left him, Ralof had removed her from his heart and mind.

And now, standing in front of her, was a man she had only recently met, but was unquestionably in love with. She felt his fearful tears wet her hand. This man loved her _now_ , not ten years ago. This man, this wonderful, _beautiful_ , brave, strong, goofy, _gallant_ man, who had become a quick friend and companion, who was honest and accepting, and who had selflessly held her, comforted her, and now, helped her understand what was happening to her.... This man was silently pleading with her, begging her to love him as much as he did her. To leave the past in the past. To accept the unavoidable present of bearing his child. And, perhaps, to one day build a life and a family with him.

Eirin saw all this in the man's reddening eyes and tear-streamed face.

Slowly, Eirin removed her hand from Fjornir's face. She held his arm, the one grasping the necklace, and urged him to release his grip. He did. She lowered his arm to his side. The pair stood close, but apart, gazing into each other's eyes.

Fjornir lost control. He collapsed into the single chair in the room, buried his head in his hands, and began to weep.

Eirin had broken the Dragonborn.

She wondered if this was some other skill that she wielded, unintentionally. Prancing around Skyrim, forcing men to love her, breaking them or causing them to break her.

She stared at the man before her, slumped over in the chair. Shorter tresses of his dark brown-red hair escaped the leather thong that tied his hair back, partially concealing his flushed face. His shoulders began to shake.

Eirin felt the dagger sheathed in a small scabbard at her side. She quietly removed the small blade from its container. She dragged the cold iron across her finger. It wasn't terribly sharp anymore, but it would do. Slowly, she raised the blade to her throat. Her hand paused once the blade pressed flat against her collar bone. Her other hand clasped the bone bead. Her breath quickened.

Fjornir looked up at that moment. He saw the dagger Eirin held at her throat, the determination in her eyes. A jolt of fear shocked his shaken body into action, but not soon enough.

As Fjornir leapt from the chair, his arms outstretched to grab the dagger, shouting at Eirin to stop, Fjornir's heart ceased to beat as he watched the dagger jerk sideways.


	17. Illusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirin breaks free from her bonds.

 The innkeeper and a patron rushed to the bedroom. Fjornir was oblivious to their questions, his own screaming drowning them out. He had gotten a hold of the dagger and threw it to the floor. _Too late, too late,_ he said to himself, over and over. His palm was pressing against Eirin's throat, who now sat on the edge of the small bed.

The Healer's eyes were wide with fear. Her arms had dropped to her sides and she began to tremble. Fjornir's hand pressed too hard on her throat. His other hand grasped too tightly her shoulder. He was shaking her. Eirin heard Fjornir shouting but didn't hear his words. She didn't understand why he was shouting, why the innkeeper and another man were shouting at Fjornir, shouting at her, why they didn't have doors on their guest bedrooms....

Eirin slowly lifted a shaking hand to Fjornir. His face was too close to hers. Shouting. Eyes becoming bloodshot with all the shouting. Her palm landed on Fjornir's cheek.

Fjornir stopped shouting and stared at Eirin's face. His hand reached up for hers.

The room had fallen silent. Eirin was smiling.

Fjornir tentatively removed his palm from Eirin's throat. He let out a sobbing, choking sigh when he saw nothing there but her flawless pale skin.

Fjornir was crying again. “What?....” His eyes searched Eirin's, then leaned forward and threw his arms around the woman. She was alive.

The innkeeper and patron exchanged confused looks. They decided the woman was fine, and left the couple alone to solve their issues in private.

Sobbing, Fjornir sank to the floor in front of Eirin. His head fell into her lap and his hands clutched at her clothes. Eirin stroked his hair. “Fjornir....” Her voice was quiet, calm. The shaking man raised his head and looked up. Eirin's hands cupped his face. She was shaking her head. “Fjornir, what in Tamriel are you _doing?_ ”

Fjornir cleared his throat. “I thought.... I saw the dagger....”

Eirin wiped away the man's tears, then held out the cut leather thong. Fjornir took the thong into his own hand. A laugh broke through his sobs and he covered his tearful eyes in embarrassment. Eirin began to laugh and cry herself. “You're crazy if you think I would leave you like that,” she said, smiling. Fjornir's face was red, puffy, damp. He lifted himself to the bed and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Eirin wrapped hers around Fjornir's waist. “Crazy man,” she laughed, and sniffled.

Fjornir grabbed Eirin's face in his hands and kissed her. Fierce, powerful, and yet his hands still trembled with the fear that he had lost her. The cut leather thong was still entwined between his fingers. Fjornir wanted to make love to the woman then and there, but this inn provided no privacy, and the frozen wilderness outside was no better. He settled for their passionate embrace. He took in every sensation of her lips against his, never wanting to miss another moment of the woman's life.

Eirin felt for the bone bead which she had placed on the bed beside her. She broke their embrace in order to examine the object which she hadn't properly seen, only felt, in 15 years. She knew she should probably get rid of it, or give it to Fjornir, or put it away somewhere out of sight, but she wasn't sure she could. She had severed the leather thong that symbolized her bond to Ralof, but this bead was more than just a betrothal gift. This bead was a symbol of her earliest and most dear friendship. Surely she and Ralof could learn to be friends again, someday.

Eirin looked at the man sitting next to her. She held the small bead between her thumb and finger, letting Fjornir see it. “He was my best friend, Fjornir,” she said, then turned her gaze back to the bead. “But you're right....” She frowned, and rolled the smooth bone between her fingers. “I need to move on.” She looked back at Fjornir. “I want to move on.”

Fjornir's hands move to hers. He took the bead from her fingers, set it in her palm, and closed her hands together over the object. “You don't have to forget him.” His voice was unsteady, but Eirin could see he was serious. “But I could see it in your eyes. Every time your hand clutched your necklace, your thoughts turned to him. This necklace,” he held up the cut leather thong, “had a hold on you. You just set yourself free.”

Eirin's fist clenched around the bead. She looked at Fjornir. “I can keep it?”

Fjornir smiled. “You don't need my permission, _Dyra._ ” His hand brushed rogue strands of hair from her face.

Eirin smiled at Fjornir and kissed his tear-stained cheek. “You are the most amazing person.” She opened the small pouch that hung from her belt and dropped the bead inside. She then wrapped her arms around the man as tightly as she could.

* * *

Ralof dismounted his horse and hitched the reins to a tree. He was thankful for always keeping a heavy cloak folded in the horse's saddlebag. Night had fallen quickly and a blizzard had started. His fingers and toes were numb, but he had finally reached his destination. He rubbed down the quivering muscles of his horse, then covered it with a blanket. _That damned stable-hand better have been right,_ he thought. He ran inside the inn.

Ralof asked the innkeeper if he'd seen Eirin and Fjornir, giving their descriptions. The innkeeper nodded and pointed to the room they were staying in. Ralof realized he had walked right passed them.

There they were, sitting on the bed. Eirin's arms were around Fjornir in an intimate embrace. Fjornir's hands clenched at her hide shirt. He had his face buried in Eirin's neck.

The rage that had built up within him during the journey from Windhelm spread throughout his entire body now. The Dragonborn was embracing his woman. _My wife,_ Ralof thought. _Fjornir has his hands all over my wife._

He ducked inside the adjacent guest room. The one thing he didn't want to do was attack Fjornir, which of course was _exactly_ what he wanted to do. Attacking the man, however, would only turn Eirin against himself.

 _The army,_ he reminded himself. _We are headed to The Pale._ Ralof decided that he would explain that he was sent to find them, to tell them that everyone has been looking for them, and that the army was getting ready to take back the Imperial-occupied forts throughout Skyrim. _Yes_ , he decided. _This will be my story._

“Fjornir?!” Ralof shouted from the adjacent room. Ralof stood in place a moment then walked forward, pretending he did not know if Fjornir was actually there.

“Ralof?” Eirin's voice called out to him.

Ralof turned to her voice. _Act surprised_ , he ordered himself. “Oh, Eirin, hello...,” he frowned, feigning disappointment in seeing her. “Fjornir,” he walked forward, ignoring Eirin, “Galmar sent me to find you. He's furious that you left without telling him.”  
  
“I don't have to tell Galmar anything, Ralof,” Fjornir scowled.

Ralof saw the state of Fjornir's face and wondered if he had been crying recently, and if so, why. “Yes, well, the Stormcloaks are heading out to The Pale. Galmar went ahead to the military camp, but he won't order the attack on the fort until you report in to him.” Ralof's words were true.

“I have business to take care of here, first,” Fjornir said. “Just give me the location of the camp. I'll be there.”

Ralof had no good retort for Fjornir; he was not by nature a scheming man. He sighed, and pulled from his pouch a small piece of paper with the location of the camp. He handed it to Fjornir. “It's not too far from Windhelm, just west of Anga's Mill.”

Fjornir nodded and handed the map back to Ralof. “Tell Galmar I'll be there within three days.”

Ralof's brow creased, but he was in no place to argue. Instead, he turned to Eirin. “Galmar was upset you left without Iver, Eirin.”

“We're not exactly fighting off Imperials up here, Ralof.” Eirin was shocked at her own words. She was surprised to find herself annoyed by Ralof's presence.

Ralof stared at Eirin. He realized that she had been crying, too. It was then he noticed the necklace, his necklace, missing from her neck. “I see,” he said. He stiffened, then glared at Fjornir. “Three days,” he said before leaving.

Ralof stormed out of the inn, unhitched the reins of his horse, and left for the military camp, not caring about the dangers of traveling on the dark, snow-blind, frozen road.

Fjornir turned to Eirin. “I'm sorry, that must have been hard for you.”

Eirin just shook her head. “He hates me, Fjornir,” she frowned, “that's clear now.”

Fjornir wasn't so sure, but said nothing.

“What business do you have here, anyway?” she asked.

“I have to go up north a bit, to an island. Take care of some trouble there.”

“Is it dangerous?”

Fjornir smiled at her. “Probably.”

Eirin frowned. “I should go with you, then.”

Fjornir's hand caressed her cheek. “Yesterday, I would have agreed.” His hand moved to her lower abdomen. “Now I'm not so sure I want you anywhere near danger.” Eirin placed her hand over his. “The way there is difficult, and for you would mean swimming through the icy waters.”

“What do you mean 'for me'? Wouldn't you have to swim, too?”

Fjornir smiled. “You know those Shouts I can do?” Eirin nodded. “One of them lets me move... very fast. I will likely not get wet at all.”

“Oh...,” she looked away. Fjornir squeezed her hand. She sighed and turned back to him. “Well then, before you go....”

“Yes?”

She feigned a serious face. “We should probably have some dinner.” Fjornir smiled, and she continued. “And then sleep for no less than ten hours. And in the morning, eat a huge breakfast. What do you say?”

Fjornir laughed. “I like the way you think.”

* * *

Fjornir was right. The journey to the island was not easy, and what waited for him there was even more trying. The ruins of Skytemple were no place for a pregnant woman. Fjornir's injuries were substantial, but he was alive. He returned slowly to the village. When he entered the inn, he found Eirin sipping soup from a bowl and sitting next to a young blonde woman.

Eirin put down the soup bowl. “Fjornir!” She ran up to him and planted a kiss on his lips. She heard him grunt. She backed away. “What's wrong, are you hurt?”

Fjornir smiled, but Eirin could see he was in pain. “Just a few cuts and bruises.”

“You're a horrible liar,” she said. “Come on...” She walked back to their rented room. “Sit,” she ordered. “Alright, tell me where it hurts,” she smirked at Fjornir who was sitting on the chair.

Fjornir lifted his right arm let Eirin see the gaping wound above his elbow. She gasped. “Oh, Fjornir....” She placed her hand over the wound and Healed it immediately. The wound closed, but a bright red scar remained. “Where else?”

Fjornir stood and revealed the bone-deep cut at the back of his lower thigh. This wound needed stitches as well as Healing. Fjornir grit his teeth while Eirin sewed his partially-healed skin back together.

Fjornir sat back down. “Alright, anything else?” Eirin asked.

“Just some sore muscles. Maybe you should rub me down.” Fjornir grinned and winked.

Eirin smirked, then left the bedroom for the main hall. She returned with a pitcher and a mug. “Water,” she put the pitcher and mug on the table next to the chair. “Drink up.”

Fjornir chuckled. He poured the water and drank heavily.

Eirin began to remove his heavy armor.

Fjornir smiled. “I knew I would like having you around.” Eirin stopped in her tracks. She remembered when Fjornir first said those words to her. She placed his pauldrons on the dresser and walked back to him. She slipped off one gauntlet, and then the other. When she returned a second time, Fjornir reached for her waist and pulled her to his lap. They both laughed.

Sitting on his lap, the first thing Eirin noticed about him was that his hair was badly in need of a wash. The second thing she noticed was that his steel leggings were incredibly uncomfortable to sit on. Despite his sweat-sodden hair that, frankly, smelled horrible, Eirin gave the man a quick kiss. “I like taking care of you,” she admitted.

Her words warmed Fjornir, and he gave her a quick kiss in return. “We'll take care of each other, then.”

Eirin smiled. “Well, then, before we leave for The Pale, I'm going to have to insist that you wash your hair....”


	18. Theories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirin and Fjornir talk on the way to The Pale.

 Eirin and Fjornir made the journey on horseback from Winterhold to the Stormcloak military camp in moderate silence, passing the morning with brief, casual conversations.

Both of them had many thoughts weighing on their minds, making them nervous for vastly different reasons.

Fjornir realized he never had the opportunity to ask Eirin what she and Savos spoke about when they were alone. 

“He confirmed my thoughts, mostly,” Eirin answered Fjornir, “that the lightning is just a more intense version of the Healing. But he told me something that I didn't know: the body has lightning inside it, or... something like that... and the Healing touch... what did he say... ' _stimulates_ ' the life inside the body. What I can do is more efficient than magic, he said, because it comes naturally to me. Just like your Shouts, as you had thought.” She smiled at the Dragonborn. “So, basically, Healing someone stimulates the body into healing itself, but the lightning stimulates it so much, it shocks the body. Stops the heart, he said, just as I thought. That's why that bandit died....”

Fjornir's brow creased in concentration. “So, if you can stop a heart... do you think you can start one again?” His eyes were alight with interest.

Eirin considered the concept. “I don't see why not... but I'm not about to practice on anyone.”

“Savos _did_ say to practice,” Fjornir grinned.

The Healer smirked at her lover. She then frowned. “I don't think I want to practice the lightning now, Fjornir. Savos didn't seem concerned, but what if it somehow hurts the baby? Me losing consciousness, or even just producing the lightning?”

Fjornir reached out his hand across the space between their two horses. Eirin received it, happily.

More silence.

“What about the night you sparkled?” Fjornir asked.

Eirin sighed. “He didn't really know what to say about that. He has a theory, though.”

“Seems like Savos's theories are worth considering.”

“Yes,” she said. “He and I... we talked about how I discovered that I could produce lightning. As you and I had already figured, it's triggered by love... for you.” Eirin looked over at Fjornir.

The man smiled. His hand gripped hers tighter. “Is that what made you sparkle that night?”

Eirin shook her head. “I don't know. I don't think so.... But Savos thought it was related to you, yes.”

“Related to me, how?" 

“I'm not sure even Savos really understood it fully, but I will try to explain....” Eirin told Fjornir about what she learned about the Mer Will, and that, like he had heard Savos say to her, she has Aldmer blood within her. “He thinks because of who you are, you were able to... weaken my Will. Break through the barrier, so to speak.”

“Because I'm the Dragonborn...” he said, softly.

“Yes. Either that, or.... Savos suggested that, perhaps, even though I did not realize it that night, I loved you enough to want to conceive a child with you.” Eirin smiled at Fjornir. “Or maybe both are explanations. Why exactly I glowed, sparkled... Savos didn't know. I don't know. That didn't happen when I conceived my son years ago.... I thought about it more, my conversation with Savos and the things he said. And I think I have my own theory.”

“And that is?” Fjornir's eyes were wide with curiosity.

“I think,” Eirin began, “that I let myself conceive a child that night because I thought it possible that the next day you might die, in battle. Maybe in the back of my mind, I thought, 'If Fjornir dies, there would be no more Dragonborn, no more _Fjorni_ _r_ , and the world would burn, and I....'” Eirin couldn't find the words.

“And you?” Fjornir's smile was soft and encouraging.

Eirin blushed and looked away from Fjornir. “And I.... I would have missed you.” Eirin felt Fjornir raise her hand. He strained his body sideways to kiss it, nearly falling from his horse. Eirin laughed. “Crazy Man,” she said, grinning.

Fjornir smirked. “You need a better nickname for me, _Dyra._ ”

“Not a chance, Crazy Man.” Eirin's grin turned teasingly wicked.

Fjornir just shook his head.

The terrain became awkward and their horses had to move in single file. Fjornir lead the way.

A while later, they were able to ride side by side again. Eirin began to tell Fjornir about a question that had been floating around in her mind. “Fjornir, when Savos suggested that you may have weakened my Will... I began to worry about something.”

“Worry? What about?”

“About if you could alter someone's free will on purpose,” she said quietly.

Fjornir tugged at the reins. His horse stopped.

Eirin didn't notice he'd stopped until her horse was a full length ahead of his. She tugged at her horse's reins, stopping the mare, and looked back. “What?” Fjornir stared at her. Eirin pulled back at the reins continually, urging the horse to move backwards until she was face to face with Fjornir again. “It was just a thought, Fjornir,” she said.

Fjornir's eyes narrowed and his brow creased. “You think I walk around, willing everyone to fawn over me like I'm some kind of god?” He almost shouted the words. 

“What? No, Fjornir, I just--”

“--Well I don't, Eirin,” he cut her off. His voice calmed and he looked away from her. “If only it were that easy, to turn it on or off....” He kicked the flanks of his horse and started forward again.

Eirin followed, urging her horse onwards. She didn't know what to say, now.

Fjornir spoke again. “Do you even remember how you were around me when we first met?” He didn't look at her.

Eirin recalled the first night she met him, at the palace in Windhelm. “Actually, I was nervous.”

“You weren't nervous, you were annoying.” Eirin could see the muscles of his jaw clench and unclench. “That's how I knew you were different.”

“I _was_ nervous, that first night in Windhelm when we were introduced. I knew who you were, but seeing you, standing right in _front_ of you for the first time.... I had no idea how to act around the Dragonborn.”

Fjornir was quiet for a few moments. “You acted normal. Good normal, not... ' _Oh Sweet Divines, it's the Dragonborn!'_ ” His voiced had raised high to mimic a fawning female. “Even Galmar and Ulfric are weird around me.”

Eirin laughed. “Wait, did you say I was _annoying_?” Eirin asked.

“You _know_ you were...” he retorted. Fjornir recalled the moment he knew he wanted to know her better. “I already told you, that's how I knew that I... liked you....” He paused, and then, “I didn't make you like me back, Eirin. I can't do that. But....” Eirin looked over at him. “...I did try to be near you more,” he admitted.

“You did?”

Fjornir finally looked over at her. He was smiling again.

Fjornir maneuvered his horse to move closer to Eirin's, bumping into her mare. He reached up and managed to grab hold of her wolf-fur coat, then tugged, urging Eirin to lean toward him. Fjornir kissed her for as long as he could until the horses had enough of bumping into one another's flanks and separated.

“If I really could control your will, _Dyra_ , we'd be in Riften getting married right now, _trust_ me,” he laughed.

His words stunned Eirin. “You want to _marry_ me?” Her brow raised and eyes widened in surprise. 

Fjornir looked back at Eirin. His expression was disarmingly serious. “Ever since I first held you in my arms.”


	19. In Love and War

Reclaiming the various forts taken by Imperial forces went smoothly and quickly. Eirin was thankful for the lack of serious injuries. She felt nauseous every morning and every late afternoon, and almost never kept her breakfast down. Fjornir worried for her, but she assured him this was perfectly normal. The worst part about it was the smells. Everything smelled too strongly, and therefore everything made her feel ill.

After the Stormcloaks had reclaimed a fort in The Reach, Fjornir had insisted they disclose her condition to Galmar before he found out from someone else. Eirin could not refuse. The commander was not happy, but knew that there was nothing he could do about the situation.

On the journey between Hjaalmarch and Haafingar, Ralof got word of Eirin's pregnancy. He become overrun with depression. He avoided Fjornir and Eirin at all costs. The only thought that kept him from curling up and letting himself wither away was the promise of Ulfric's arrival within a few days. He fantasized Ulfric forgiving him, changing his mind and marrying him instead of some woman. Purely a fantasy, Ralof knew, but it was the fantasy that kept Ralof functioning.

When the army settled at the Haafingar camp, Fjornir set up a pup-tent for him and Eirin to share, no longer caring about Galmar's rules.

The attack on Fort Hraggstad would not occur for two days, and Eirin and Fjornir took advantage of their time together. Even though with every victory Eirin grew more confident that Fjornir would not be killed, she still clung to him every chance she could, not wanting to miss a moment of what little time they may have left together. Fjornir joked that her pregnancy was starting to make her overly emotional. He began to teasingly call her 'Crazy Woman', which always ended with him getting a light smack on his backside and a smirk from Eirin. This playfulness just enticed Fjornir to kiss Eirin, which caused Eirin to cry. The cycle of teasing, smacking, kissing and crying lasted two full days.

The morning the army was due to attack the fort, when Fjornir was talking with the quartermaster, Ralof saw his chance to speak with Eirin. Despite not wanting to see her for fear he turn into a sobbing mess of a man in front of her, he entered the Healer's tent. Eirin was looking for something in her knapsack, and only looked up at him when he cleared his throat.

“Ralof?” She stood. “What's wrong? Are you alright?”

“I'm fine, Eirin,” he said. He looked at the other healers in the tent.

Eirin turned. “Ladies, can you give us a moment?” The healers smiled at Eirin and left the tent.

When they were alone, Ralof spoke. “Eirin, I...,” he cleared his throat again. “Congratulations. For the baby, I mean.” His smile was forced. “I'm glad you're happy.”

“Thank you, Ralof. I am.”

The pair stood in silence, looking into one another's eyes. 

Ralof grew more uncomfortable, and turned to look away, outside the tent flaps. He turned back to Eirin. “We're leaving soon,” he said.

Eirin nodded. “I hope the battle goes well for you.”

More silence. 

Ralof turned to go, but stopped himself. His head sunk, and Eirin heard what sounded to her like a quiet sob. Ralof turned and looked back at the woman he still loved. Too quickly for Eirin to react, he walked up to her and pressed his lips to hers. Eirin tried to break away, but Ralof held her face to hers with his strong hands.

The sensation of Ralof's soft lips on hers weakened her will to resist, and she gave in to his embrace. His kiss sent her back to their meadow, to their secret wedding day. Her arms moved from pushing at his chest to wrapping around his neck. Time froze as their estranged mouths explored long-forgotten territory. Eirin was 15 again and madly in love.

A wave of nausea broke her fantasy. She pushed back from Ralof, cupping her mouth with her hand, half because she was worried her breakfast would resurface, half from the shock of having kissed Ralof.

She looked up at him, her hand still over her mouth.

Ralof approached her again, but instead of kissing her mouth, landed a gentle, prolonged kiss on her forehead. His hand caressed her cheek.

In a low, shaking voice, Ralof spoke the words he had been longing to say to her for years.

“I never stopped loving you.”

In a blur, Ralof was gone.


	20. The Dragonborn Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The attack on Fort Hraggstad has begun.

 Eirin sat eating lunch with the other healers. In her boredom, Ralof's kiss replayed over and over in her mind. She felt his touch linger on her lips. _He still loves me_ , she thought. She had been wrong, so very wrong about Ralof's feelings toward her. Eirin's hand instinctively moved to her neck, but her fingers fell, lacking the leather thong perch. She reached into the small pouch at her side, found the bead and rolled it in her fingers.

The military camp was far from the fort, too far to hear the sounds of war. Except for peaceful birdsong, the camp was silent. No injuries had come in from the battle, but the soldiers had not yet returned. Eirin grew worrisome.

Eirin was taking a sip of water when the first roar sounded.

She looked at the other healers. As a group, they put down their lunch and looked toward the sky. Eirin would recognize that sound anywhere now. 

_Dragon._

The roar sounded again. Eirin put her hand above her eyes to block out the bright midday sun. 

“There!” Eirin spotted the dragon circling the air to the north-west. “Oh, no...” she said under her breath. Eirin looked at the head healer. “We need to go to the fort, Risa,” Eirin said.

Risa shook her head. “If our soldiers lost the battle, we'll be slaughtered. No, Eirin, we have to wait here. Don't worry, the Dragonborn will kill it.” 

Eirin knew she was right. She knew her emotions were out of control lately. When someone sneezed, she worried they were doing to die of the sniffles. Eirin had to sit, and wait, to know if the soldiers, and Fjornir, lived. She kept her eyes to the sky, watching the distant figure of the dragon circle around what Eirin was certain was the fort, then disappear below the treeline, then soar around again. The beast breathed dragon-fire every chance it got. Eirin felt she would lose her lunch.

After the dragon failed to resurface above the treeline and ceased to roar, Eirin sighed in relief. Fjornir had killed it. She only hoped no one was terribly injured.

Eirin felt a hand on her shoulder. Risa was smiling at her. “See, no big deal. Hopefully the thing killed a few Imperials.” Eirin smiled, but she knew that Imperials weren't the only humans the dragon could have killed or injured.

Not long after the dragon disappeared, Eirin heard a galloping horse approaching. Perhaps they needed the healers to come to the fort, after all. She stood outside the Healer's tent awaiting the rider. As the horse galloped nearer, Eirin saw the glinting steel armor of Fjornir and relief drifted over her tense body. It wasn't until she saw the limp body dressed in blue, hung over the horse's back in front of Fjornir that she realized something was wrong. As Fjornir rode closer, she saw the look of dread on his face. She looked again at the body on the horse.

The man's muscular arms hung limp, swinging back and forth with the horse's movements. His shoulder-length blonde hair and a single braid...

Eirin's heart stopped. Her scream scared away the birds.  


	21. A Healer's Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirin attempts to cope with tragedy.

 Time slowed.

Fjornir shouted at Eirin, at the healers. He held Ralof's limp body in his arms. The healers scrambled around Eirin and opened the tent flaps. Fjornir lowered Ralof onto a pallet in the Healer's tent.

Eirin stood there, watching the healers remove Ralof's uniform. Blood flowed everywhere. Someone was grasping her arm, shouting, then talking softly. Risa shouted at the healers.

Ralof's entire left torso and upper thigh were a deep shade of red. A gash the width of his arm stretched across the thigh. His left arm... Eirin saw bright white piercing through his dirty, bloody skin.

“Eirin!” The Healer turned to the man who shouted her name into her ear. Fjornir. Grim-faced Fjornir. His mouth made voiceless words. He grabbed Eirin's shoulders and shook her. “Eirin. Eirin! Ralof was hit by a dragon. You have to _Heal him!_ ”

Eirin stared at Fjornir. His words made no sense. “Ralof?” she asked, quietly.

“ _Dying!_ ” Fjornir shouted.

Fjornir watched as comprehension hit Eirin. Her eyes widened and she burst from Fjornir's grasp into the tent.

“Ralof!” she screamed. She fell to the ground next to him. She held his unconscious face in her hands. Her voice lowered to a whimper. “Ralof?” Her shaking hands begun to glow. “Ralof... wake up....” Eirin began to sob.

 _His body, examine his body_ , she ordered herself. His wounds still bled; he still had a heart beat. His torso.... The red color was turning purple. _Internal bleeding_ , she heard from somewhere in her mind. She pressed her palms against his torso. Yellow light spread from her hands throughout Ralof's broken body. She moved one hand to the gash in his thigh. Tears made her vision blurry. The gash began to close, but stopped once it reached the width of her thumb. Eirin removed her hand. Another healer began to stitch the wound. 

“Can't you heal his break?” a young healer asked Eirin. She shook her head. She knew doing so would heal the bone at a bad angle.

“Set it,” Eirin managed to say.

Three healers held Ralof in place. Risa held the broken arm and examined the bone. “It's shattered.” She frowned at Eirin and motioned for her to examine the arm.

Eirin saw pieces of white bone had broken through the thin membrane that normally held bones together. Risa was right, the rest of the bone was likely the same. “Let me try,” Eirin said. She placed her hand directly onto the bone. Her lunch threatened a reappearance. She closed her eyes and felt a small piece of bone, still attached by a membrane but moving around. She felt more of the same. Tiny pieces of bone. She sobbed, but was determined to try. She wrapped two fingers and a thumb around the exposed bone as Risa held Ralof's arm, as best she could, in its natural position. A yellow glow obscured the other healers' views of the wound. Eirin squeezed her eyes shut.

Eirin felt weak, but continued. When she no longer felt breaks in the exposed bone, she stopped. She looked down, and frowned. She saw no cracks and the bone was fairly straight – Risa had done a good job – but normally shattered limbs never work properly again. She held her hand to the torn flesh, and it closed, slightly. Eirin felt dizzy and had to stop.

“Stitch it, Risa,” Eirin said in a whisper. She was on her hands and knees. The dizziness subsided and she looked again at Ralof's torso. His left rib area was a deep purple, but the surrounding flesh was the brown-yellow color of a healing bruise.

She lost her lunch.

Arms approached from behind and enveloped her. “Eirin, come, rest.” Fjornir was holding her. She felt herself being led to another area of the tent. Fjornir sat behind her. She reclined against his body. Her head lay on his cold, hard steel chest. His arms wrapped around her. Her breathing was shallow. She was nearly drained of energy.

Risa walked over to Eirin. “Drink.” She planted a canteen of water beside Eirin and returned to Ralof. Fjornir held the bottle to Eirin's mouth. She took a few sips.

“The dragon...” Eirin said.

“Ralof and others were firing arrows at the dragon.” Fjornir said. “This one was smart. It used its tail against us. We never saw it coming.... The spikes on its tail impaled two others. Ralof... the spike just missed his body, but caught his leg. He was thrown. Landed against a stone wall.”

Eirin's sobbing began again.

“He still lives, Eirin.”

“So much blood.” She choked on her sobs.

Risa stood as the other healers placed poultices over the torn flesh and bruised torso. She walked over to Eirin again. “He's lost a lot of blood, but I think he'll live. I'll keep an eye on his torso. The arm, however.... Well, we did our best, hmm?” Eirin sniffled and stared at the old woman. The healer turned to Fjornir. “Any other wounded?”

He shook his head. “Two dead, but injuries... nothing worth worrying about right now. There were still some Imperials inside the fort, but I left as soon as the dragon was killed, to bring Ralof here.”

Eirin clasped onto Fjornir's arms. Her body trembled as sobbing overtook her again.

Risa retrieved a folded, time-worn piece of paper from her apron. She held the paper out to Eirin. “Ralof had this tucked in his uniform. A note. From you.” Eirin was confused, but took the paper. Risa walked back to the other healers.

As Eirin examined the stained, top fold of the paper with Ralof's name written by her own hand, she heard the voices of the healers raise into shouts.

 _No heart beat,_ one of them said.


	22. Dead Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eirin attempts to save Ralof's life.

“ _No_ , Ralof!” Eirin was screaming. “Don't you leave me....” She saw nothing through her tears. She pounded on his chest and held his face. “Ralof.... Wake up....” Her left hand glowed yellow over his heart.

“He's gone, Eirin,” Risa said softly.

“No! No, he can't go...” She collapsed onto Ralof's body. Her entire body shook in sobs.

Fjornir watched as Eirin held Ralof's body. His heart was breaking for her.

As her sobbing escalated into wailing, a yellow light emerged from between her body and Ralof's. Her hand that pounded on Ralof's chest, and the other that grabbed his face, began to sparkle.

Fjornir saw this and stood. He walked up to where Ralof lay. “Eirin,” he said.

She ignored him.

“Eirin, start his heart.”

Her cries quieted. “What?” she looked back at Fjornir.

“ _Start. His. Heart._ ” Fjornir enunciated the words.

Eirin's mouth dropped when his words finally hit her. _Start his heart. Start his heart._ She looked at her hands. Sparks had already formed between her fingers. She placed her palms against Ralof's chest.

Eirin imaged Ralof healed. Ralof living. Ralof smiling. Ralof loving.

She willed the lightning to fly from her hands. She knew it worked when she heart a loud _zap!_ and saw Ralof's body convulse. He lay still. _Zap!_ Another convulsion. Nothing. Eirin cried out Ralof's name. _Zap!_

* * *

 

Ralof watched Eirin cry over his body. He was pleased to see Fjornir there. Ralof knew that the man loved her, and would take care of her. He moved from behind Eirin to her side and looked over his own corpse. He thought he looked fat. He then gazed upon Eirin. The glow emitted from her hands looked different, here in the in-between. Not a soft yellow glow, but rather like she had harnessed the power of a blinding, shimmering sun.

Ralof heard the voices of his mother and father, and brother and sister Stormcloaks who had died. They called to him. He felt their loving warmth. He smiled, and closed his eyes.

Sovngarde was calling. Ralof waited for his soul to be taken away.

Then pain. He opened his eyes, confused. Sovngarde knew no pain. Again, a pain, in his chest. He looked down at his corpse. It convulsed. He wanted to stop Eirin, to tell her to let him go, but his shouts were lost in the ether. He saw his body convulse again and then pain spread throughout his entire body.

* * *

 

Ralof's eyes and mouth burst open in shock. His lungs sucked in as much air as they could. The expression of shock on his face equaled that of Eirin's, Fjornir's, and all the healers. Eirin took Ralof's face in her hands. Ralof turned and looked upon a sobbing, red-faced woman. She was whispering words over and over again. He knew the woman had brought him back to life, ripped him from the door to Sovngarde.

And then the pain hit him. He had been in shock, but now pain reminding him that he was alive.

His cries pierced through Eirin's soul.

Risa ran over to Ralof and made him drink from a small bottle.

Eirin sat back on the ground, her hands covering her mouth to prevent her from crying out his name. Fjornir knelt behind Eirin and wrapped his arms around her. “You did it,” he whispered. “You saved Ralof's life.”

Hearing Ralof's agonizing pain made her wish she hadn't.

* * *

 

Eirin grew morose as the days passed and Ralof slept. She lay in her pup-tent with Fjornir, who held her in silence. Ralof lived, but his body was so broken that Risa forced him into a death-sleep with her tonics. When he showed signs of waking, she forced him to drink more tonic. She would carry on this way for an entire week. Every morning, Eirin Healed Ralof's body, concentrating most on his torso, but often Healing his head as well. She didn't know why, as he had no wounds on his head, but something within her knew he needed Healing there, too.

Eirin passed the time thinking of the note Risa handed to her. Ralof had lied when he said he never received her letters. The one that Risa found was the last Eirin had written to Ralof before leaving with her father to Markarth, when she had begun to fear that Ralof was dead.

In her mind, she recited the poem she had written, over and over.

 

_If war had not begun_

_And you were here at home_

_I'd give my all to you_

_Where mountain flowers grow_

 

_I can hardly breathe_

_Without you here with me_

_The time is passing slow_

_And my mind fades alone_

 

_I'm here in our meadow_

_Still clinging to you_

 

_You've heard these words before_

_I'll love you evermore_

_Believe me when I say_

_You're everything I am_

 

_I'm here in our meadow_

_Still clinging to you_

_Come here to our meadow_

_Come back to me_

  

Eirin didn't feel Fjornir's arms around her; her body was numb to the present. Eirin's mind was ten years in the passed. The realization that Ralof still loved her and had almost died was too much for her to process. She let go of all worry and found happiness in Ralof's arms, in their meadow.

* * *

 

When a week had passed, Risa allowed Ralof to wake fully. His body still ached horribly, but he no longer screamed in pain.

Ulfric had arrived the night before. He had visited the sleeping Ralof, and the healers could see the pain in the man's eyes. This morning he and the entire army were to march on Solitude. If the Stormcloaks were victorious, they will have won the war. 

Despite Eirin returning none of Fjornir's muted affections, he had kissed her forehead and told her that he loved her before leaving. Her ambivalence continued to shatter his heart, but he never gave up on her.

After Fjornir left, Eirin knelt next to the dozing Ralof and caressed his cheek with her hand. He let out a soft groan and turned his head to look at the person next to him. When he opened his eyes, he didn't recognize the woman who had touched his cheek. In a soft, gruff voice, Ralof asked, “Who are you?” 

Eirin stared at Ralof. “What? Ralof, it's me. Are you feeling alright?” she felt his forehead to check for fever.

Ralof pushed her hand away from him. He squinted at the daylight coming in from the open tent. “Where am I?” He tried to sit up, but pain forced him back down again. He grunted. “Why do I feel like I was stepped on by a mammoth?”

Eirin slowly shook her head. “Ralof, you were injured in battle, by a dragon.”

He laughed, but stopped when he realized laughing hurt too. “Dragons don't exist.” He winced at the pain that came with talking.

Eirin shot a horrified look to Risa, who stood next to her, frowning.


	23. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old memories are lost, but new memories are made.

Solitude had fallen to the Stormcloaks.

Ulfric and his army had won.

Back at the camp, before Ulfric was allowed to see Ralof, Risa explained to him what had happened in his absence. Ulfric entered the Healer's tent, but exited a few moments later.

Eirin watched Ulfric. Fjornir held her hand.

The Jarl fell to his knees outside the tent. He buried his head in his hands. Galmar looked on, uncomfortable. The Jarl asked no one in particular, “Does he remember _anything?_ ”.

Eirin spoke. “Not even me....”

Ulfric looked to the Healer. He stood and walked over to her. “What did you _do?_ ”

Eirin stared at him, speechless. Fjornir answered for her. “She saved his life, Ulfric. I watched the whole thing. 

“Did he hit his head?” asked Ulfric.

Eirin shook her head. Again, Fjornir answered. “He may have, no one was sure. But, Ulfric, he had died. His heart stopped beating. Eirin brought him back.” A single tear streamed down Eirin's cheek.

“He died?” Ulfric's expression softened completely.

Fjornir nodded. “I've never known anyone to come back from the dead. Perhaps this is what happens....”

Ulfric stared at the Dragonborn and the Healer. He walked back towards the tent, wanting to enter but stopping himself. His large hand pushed back his mussy hair and he hid his face in his hand.

After a while, Ulfric spoke again. “I will escort him back to Riverwood.”

“Ulfric, we should return to Windhelm as soon as possible,” Galmar insisted.

Ulfric sighed. “After, Galmar. After....”

Fjornir looked down at Eirin with a knowing look. Eirin shook her head and spoke softly. “I can't, Fjornir. He doesn't remember me, but his sister would. I don't want to know how much she must loath me....”

“I've met Gerdur. I will go with you and Ulfric. Besides,” Fjornir wiped dry her cheek, “Riverwood is near Whiterun.”

Eirin was confused. “What does Whiterun have to do with anything?”

Fjornir smiled sweetly. “I live there.”

* * *

 

The journey by horse-drawn cart to Riverwood was agonizingly long. Ralof regained no memory, but at least remained calm. Eirin sat between him and Fjornir. Ulfric and Galmar sat across from Ralof.

Eirin and Ulfric talked with Ralof over the three-day journey. They tried to jog his memory, any memory, but failed miserably. Ralof didn't even recall his own name.

Night fell as the group finally reached Riverwood. Ulfric escorted Ralof to his sister's house with the others trailing behind.

The reunion was as uncomfortable as Eirin expected, but Gerdur's attention was focused on Ralof.

Ulfric and Galmar along with two other Stormcloaks were going to spend the night at the inn and return to Windhelm in the morning. Ulfric made Gerdur promise to write him with updates on Ralof's condition.

Fjornir suggested to Eirin that they make the short walk to Whiterun that night. She agreed.

Before Eirin left with Fjornir, she approached Ralof's sister. “Gerdur?” she spoke softly. The tall woman who looked so much like Ralof turned to Eirin. “I wanted to... apologize, for the grief I'd caused Ralof in the past. And...,” she reached into the pouch at her side and retrieved the bone bead, “please, give this to Ralof. Maybe he will remember it, one day....” 

Gerdur took the bead. She recognized it immediately. “I will, Eirin.” Tears flooded Gerdur's eyes.

Eirin began to cry, too, but tugged at Fjornir's arm, signaling her desire to leave.

“Goodbye, Gerdur,” Eirin said before walking over to Ralof, who sat on a chair by the hearth. She spoke his name. When he didn't respond, she placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to her. “I'm leaving now, Ralof. I hope you get well, soon.” Her hand rose to his cheek. A soft yellow glow shone from her palm. Ralof closed his eyes upon feeling the warmth, and smiled.

When Eirin removed her hand from his cheek, Ralof looked up at her. He reached for her hand and held it in both of his. “I suppose I was lucky to have known you, Healer.” His sweet smile disarmed her completely.

Eirin felt her throat begin to close. She fought back tears and smiled at the beautiful man before her. She slipped her hand out of Ralof's grasp, kissed him on the cheek, and left.

* * *

 

Fjornir led Eirin inside his small home in Whiterun. After he placed their knapsacks by the door, they were greeted by a handsome woman. “Ha! You're alive. I thought you'd died,” the woman said to Fjornir.

Fjornir grumbled. “Lydia, this is Eirin. Eirin, my housecarl, Lydia.” He introduced the two.

“Hello,” Eirin said, shyly.

Lydia nodded at Eirin. She was cooking something in a pot.

Fjornir hung his weapons on a rack by a bookshelf and walked back to Eirin. “Come,” he said, leading her upstairs.

Eirin followed, but looked back at Lydia. The woman was staring daggers at her. Eirin quickly looked away. She said nothing.

Fjornir closed the bedroom doors behind him. He stood there, looking at Eirin. After a moment, he spoke. “Eirin, I hope you know how truly sorry I am about Ralof. I feel that it's my fault he lost his memories, because he had died and I told you to bring him back.”

Eirin's vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes, but she shook them away. “No, Fjornir.” She walked up to him. “You were right to suggest that I bring him back.” Her hands cupped his cheeks. His red-brown stubble grew in thicker now and was almost a proper beard. “No one could have known he would have lost his memories, or even that he would have lived.”

Fjornir sighed. He clasped his hands around her wrists and lowered her arms. Their fingers intertwined.”What if he never remembers?”

Eirin frowned and her eyes looked to the floor. “Maybe that's for the best....” She could no longer hold back the pooling tears.

Fjornir wrapped his arms around Eirin and let her cry. When her sobs quieted, he began to undress her down to her undergarments, and sat her down on the bed. When he had finished removing his armor, he joined her.

They lay there together in silence. Fjornir's hand rested on Eirin's lower abdomen. He hoped none of the recent stresses, particularly Eirin healing Ralof, had harmed his child. Eirin cried on and off that night.

In the morning, Fjornir made her eat an apple, and later some cheese. Lydia brought up some stew. Fjornir missed the questioning look she had on her face upon seeing Eirin curled up and crying on the bed. Lydia left, wondering where he found this one....

Fjornir sat Eirin in a chair and spoon fed her some stew. “You really should eat more, _Dyra,_ for the child as well as for yourself.”

Eirin nodded. “I will.” She forced herself to swallow. “Not much of an appetite, I guess.” She sipped some water.

Fjornir leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “I know,” he said. “Perhaps a while from now we can visit Riverwood, see how Ralof is doing.”

Eirin shook her head. “I don't think I should, Fjornir. Perhaps.... if his memories are all gone, perhaps it is best to just let him create new ones.”

“But if he regains his memory, surely he'd be happy to see you.”

Eirin looked up at Fjornir who made her swallow another spoonful. “Even if he does....” Eirin frowned. “Fjornir, before the army left for the fort that morning, Ralof came to see me. To congratulate me. And you. I think...,” Eirin's hand moved to her lips, “I think he was letting me go. In his own way....”

Fjornir recalled the letter Eirin had shown him, the one she'd written to Ralof ten years ago. Ralof had kept it with him all these years. “But he kept that letter, Eirin. He was holding on to you as much as you were him, with that bead.” 

“Yes, but... he knew about the baby. He knew I was happy with you. He may have never stopped... caring for me... but we've known each other our whole lives. Those feelings never truly leave us.” Eirin wiped a tear from her cheek. “And more, that letter may have reminded him of home, of a time before he joined the Rebellion. A better time.... That's why I kept that bead, to remind me that I was happy, once. The bead was from Ralof, and of course it reminded me of him, but I think... for me, at least, it was the _memory_ that kept me going during hard times, not necessarily the wish to return to that time.... At least,” she looked at her hands in her lap, “that's how I see it, now.”

Fjornir leaned forward and kissed Eirin's lips. For the first time in many days, Eirin responded by kissing him back. But she soon broke away from Fjornir, and looked into his grey-green eyes. Her hands cupped each of his cheeks. She grinned, and said, “I like you with this beard, my... _Bear_ Man.” 

**End Part 1**


End file.
